


Let It Be Me

by fromfanontocanon, PuzzledHats



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Chicago Stars - Susan Elizabeth Phillips
Genre: Chose not to use archive warnings, F/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:10:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2282997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromfanontocanon/pseuds/fromfanontocanon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuzzledHats/pseuds/PuzzledHats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A business trip to Vegas ends in a terribly predictable way for Oliver and Felicity, forcing them to confront the realities of their relationship. They're about to fight harder than they've ever fought before...for each other.</p><p>Completed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An Oliver and Felicity fic loosely inspired by This Heart Of Mine by Susan Elizabeth Phillips.

Felicity was right.

Vegas wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. He honestly can’t remember why he loved it so much before the island, finding it now to be so overplayed, overdone.

Oliver presses a finger to his temple, the sound of slot machines dinging only making his headache worse.

Fourteen hours. He can make it fourteen more hours.

Sighing, he skirts around a Blackjack table into a side hallway that contains private elevators to the penthouse floors. But before he can reach out to press the call button he is met with another ding, the doors already sliding open.

“Ray,” Oliver says, his head throbbing.

“Oliver,” the man says, brushing past him. It takes Oliver back, the blunt tone and lack of a smile from the usually jovial man.

“Everything okay?” He asks, not because he cares if Ray is okay, but because he cares if it’s going to affect Felicity.

“Fine.” Ray turns to look at Oliver, anger written in every line of his face. “Since we wrapped up things early with the developers, I’m going to head back tonight.”

“Is Felicity going with you?”

“No,” Ray all but spits out, turning to stomp down the hallway.

“Great.” Oliver jams the call button, knowing already that his headache is only going to get worse.

If it was up to him, he wouldn’t even be here. He’d made it clear to both Palmer and Felicity that he trusted them to do this deal on their own. He was still in the middle of unearthing all of Moira’s holdings with the estate lawyers, something that was taking a surprisingly long time.

As it turns out, Moira Queen liked to invest in land and lots of it. Most of it Oliver was putting up for sale, but there were some properties that took a little more work. A campground on a lake several hours outside Starling, for example, was giving Oliver the most trouble. All the cabins had been booked with ironclad contracts and Oliver was in the middle of finding someone to run the place for the summer until he could sell it.

But Palmer had insisted, saying it would look better for the company if they stood as a united front. Privately he’d asked Felicity to talk to Ray, but she hadn’t budged either.

Which led to Oliver grinding his teeth and rubbing his thumb for the last two days, watching the perfectly happy couple be sickeningly sweet. Ray opened the doors for her. He fed her from his plate when they weren’t at business meetings. Oliver had tried to get out of these little dinners, but once again Ray had been adamant about wanting to get to know Oliver.

“You’re such a big part of Felicity’s life,” Ray had explained.

So he endured, because it seemed to be important to Felicity, too. Which, if he was being honest with himself, pissed him off.

Because Felicity knew. He’d told her every little thought and feeling he’d had for her since ‘I know who you are, you’re Oliver Queen.’ Had confessed how she made him feel, how because of that, because of how important she is, he couldn’t be with her.

How could she not know watching her with another man was torture? How could she miss the tension he had around them.

Shaking his head, trying to suppress his anger, he turns right instead of left when the elevator opens on his floor. He does three quick knocks on her door, listening for signs of life on the other side.

“Oliver, I don’t feel like talking right now. I'd rather be alone,” comes her muffled voice through the door.

“Tough, open up,” he says, because they’re partners and they don’t lock each other out.

Partners. Maybe that’s why she was so interested in Ray and him getting along. He sighs again, not wanting to dwell on what that would mean for either of their futures.

“Oliver,” she says, the sound of the deadbolt clicking before the door opens a crack. He pushes it open even further when he sees her tear-stained face.

His voice softens, all anger and headaches gone as he focuses on her. “Hey, what happened?”

“Ray.” She shakes her head, fresh tears filling her eyes as she turns away from him to walk back into her room. He follows, scanning the room for clues. The bed is unmade, but only one side looks slept in. There are two tiny empty bottles of vodka and a half eaten gourmet chocolate bar that Oliver knows are from the minibar on the bedside table.

“Felicity?” He can’t help until he knows what the problem is.

“He broke up with me,” she states, crawling back into bed, rolling over so her back is to him as she pulls the covers up to her chin. “Now can you please leave me to wallow?"

“Nope.” Oliver bounces on his toes a little, smiling. “That’s not what friends do.”

He moves to the desk on the far side of the room, picking up the phone and pressing the button for room service. He can see her face now, her glasses are askew, staring up at him from the bed as he orders a bottle of tequila, promising a $50 tip if they have it there in the next five minutes.

“Okay,” he says once the tequila arrives, grabbing shot glasses from the bar and making himself cozy on the other side of the bed. Not like Ray would mind, he thinks with glee.

He unscrews the bottle. “Tommy and I used to play this drinking game when either of us got dumped.”

She sits up a little, resting her back against the headboard next to him. “Yeah, I’m sure that happened a lot.”

“Oh believe me,” he says. “For a while there it felt like the women of Starling City’s favorite hobby.”

She laughs a little, taking the full shot glass he offers her.

“How do we play?”

“Well I’m glad you asked, Felicity,” he feels more playful than he has been in over a year, “I tell you one of my bad date or relationship stories, then you try to one up me. We drink every time someone finishes a a story.”

“I don’t understand.” She frowns, her eyebrows creasing together. “How do you win?”

“It’s a drinking game, Felicity,” he says with a cock of his head and a smile. “Everybody wins and everybody loses.”

She’s smiling at him again.

“I’ll go first,” he says. “When I was a freshman in high school, the hottest girl in the Senior class asked me to a Sadie Hawkins dance. Turns out she had a bet with her friends about taking my virginity.”

“Ouch,” Felicity says. “How very ‘Sixteen Candles’ of them.”

“Yep,” he nudges her knee with his. “Drink. Then it’s your turn.”

She downs the shot with a grimace. “Okay,” she says. “We need limes.”

He’s already off the bed, making his way to the phone again. “Bad date story. Go.”

She pauses, waits for him to make the call before she starts speaking. “Junior year I dated this guy for two weeks before I realized he only wanted me to do his math homework.”

“Want me to put an arrow in him?” Oliver asks as he climbs back onto the bed, moving closer to her so their shoulders bump when they move their arms.

“Already took care of it,” she smiles back. “Made it so he had to redo the eleventh grade.”

Oliver laughs out loud, relaxing into the headboard, confident he can have her totally cheered up by the end of the night.

He’s not really sure when he loses control of the evening, probably sometime after they finish three-fourths of the bottle of tequila.

It should bug him more than it does, this lack of control, but Felicity’s arm is looped through his and she’s laughing, pulling him from the room to wander the strip.

“My mom always told me I’d end up just like her,” Felicity says when they pass a couple of newlyweds. The groom is wearing a shirt with a tuxedo printed on the front, the bride a veil and a glassy eyed face of joy. “Vegas wedding. Knocked up. Abandoned.”

“But you didn’t,” Oliver says, pulling her out of the way of a group of elderly tourists.

“You want to hear the silly part,” Felicity giggles. “I always thought the idea of getting married in Vegas was romantic. Even though it ended bad for my mom. In the movies...in the movies, it was always so sweet.”

They’re just passing Harrah’s, Oliver pulls her toward the valet area, pushing her into a waiting cab. His brain has the most pleasant of buzzes, everything slightly blurry and out of focus.

“Little White Chapel,” he tells the cab driver, because this is something he can do. Make one of her dreams come true. The idea pushes his buzz over into sublime territory. Making Felicity happy always does that to him.

“Oliver, we can’t,” but she is giggling, leaning into him again, practically sitting on his lap.

“Who says?” He has a wide grin on his face.

“You said. We said.” She is still laughing, moving so she is fully sitting in his lap now, her arms wrapped around his neck.

“I want to make all your dreams come true.” He smiles warmly back at her, the overly sentimental phrase he’d never say sober sounding so right as he wraps his arms around her waist and nuzzles her nose with his, bumping her glasses.

“My hero,” she says, closing the gap between them to press her mouth towards his, all concerns about why they shouldn’t, why this was the worst idea of their lives, gone.

The champagne they’re handed when they enter the chapel puts everything in a haze after that. There is an Elvis impersonator, a woman who acts as their witness, and Felicity in a white baseball cap that says ‘bride.’ Felicity explains it will act as her veil, then goes off on what their vows should be.

He agrees to everything she says. This is her dream after all.

When they stumble into his suite, he can’t remember why he ever hated Vegas, not when it leads to him holding the love of his life in his arms to carry her over the threshold.

“Tradition,” he says when it looks like she’ll protest. He drops her onto the bed, happy to see the champagne he’d asked for at the front desk is already there. With a pop and an ‘oh’ from Felicity, he opens it, filling both flutes to the brim.

“To dreams,” he says, lifting his glass aloft in a toast. Felicity mirrors his gesture. Her goals and dreams are all he can think about. He’s already wondering what else he can give her to make her happy. She’d mentioned something last week about equipment ARGUS has, maybe he could call in a favor with Waller.

A buzz and chirp interrupt his thoughts.

“Let’s text Dig,” Felicity says as she reaches for her purse to see who had texted. He watches her, so blissfully happy at the idea of sharing this news with their team.

Her face falls when she reads the text waiting for her.

He sets his flute down so he can sit next to her on the bed, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t,” she says, standing up abruptly as she rubs at her eyes, pushing her glasses on top of her head.

“Felicity,” he says a little desperately, his head spinning from how fast her tone has changed. His brain is lumpish as it tries to figure out what happened from one second to the next. He stands, wanting to reach for her again.

“You’re the one that pushed me away, remember?” She whirls on him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes flashing. “You told me you love me. Then you walked away.”

She is jabbing her finger toward his chest, punctuating each word. She isn’t actually touching him, but it feels like he’s been punched in the kidney.

“This is your fault,” she says, holding up her phone, her hand shaking. “He loved me. Ray loved me. But you couldn’t be happy for me.”

“That’s not fair,” he says, his jaw clenching. It isn’t. Oliver’s anger from the last two days of seeing them together returns with gusto. He’s had to endure two days of them hanging on each other, of them smiling dumbly at one another, acting like he wasn’t even there half the time and he had done it all because she had asked him to. But now she’s blaming him for the failure of her relationship?

“Don’t think I don’t see those grimaces and eye rolls, Oliver,” she says, her voice raising a level. “Don’t think Ray didn’t.”

“I have been nothing but supportive of your relationship.” He keeps his voice even as anger builds in his chest. He’d encouraged her to go on the date with Ray, had even been a little relieved she was moving on so she would no longer be a temptation for him. He’d gone out of his way to be cordial to Ray, all because he wanted her to be happy.

“Transferring to the Gotham branch,” Felicity pointedly reads from her phone. “I hope he realizes how lucky he is. You deserve the best.”

“What is he talking about?” Oliver asks, knowing the text is from Ray.

“You, Oliver,” she says, throwing her hands up a little. “He thinks you love me. He thinks I love you. So he bowed out, took the high road.”

“I do love you.” A statement, the truth. It’s all he can get out, the anger so close to the surface. He’d sacrificed his happiness for her, given her up, all because he loves her. Here she was standing before him questioning it, after everything they’ve been through. Does she honestly have no idea how fucking hard that was for him?

“No, you don’t,” she says, her voice dropping to a little above a whisper as she pins him with her eyes. “This isn’t love. You left. When people love you? They don’t leave.”

“I’m right here,” he says, barely opening his mouth as he steps forward until they are toe-to-toe. “I fucking married you.”

They are both breathing hard, his lips are pressed together, trying to prevent himself from rising to the bait, their eyes never leaving each other.

He gives in, his hands moving to hold her head in place, pressing forward to kiss her, the farthest thing from gentle.

“I love you,” he repeats against her mouth. They are both shaking, their skin almost vibrating as they take in labored breaths together.

They move at the same time, her hands unbuttoning his shirt, his pulling up her dress, their mouths meeting in the middle, only separating long enough to divest each other of their clothes.

He’s pictured them together a thousand different times, in a thousand different ways. But never like this. Never with anger running through their veins. Never as Felicity’s rebound. They’re rough, ruthless. Felicity scratches down his back, digging her nails into his skin. He bites her shoulder, his hands gripping her waist with all his strength as he moves inside her.

It was never supposed to be like this, not between them, he thinks when she comes with a low groan. Never like this.

 

* * *

 

 In all the years she spent in Vegas, Felicity never considered it dangerous. Until now.

She should have seen this coming. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that coming out of a break-up combined with copious amounts of alcohol, a hotel suite at Caesar's Palace, and Oliver Queen equaled trouble.

Or mindblowing sex, as the case may be.

Not that she remembers the sex, exactly, or much that happened in the last--she glances at the clock--ten hours. But she does remember that time he kissed her in the middle of a hospital corridor, so she has some basis for her assumption.

The light is filtering in through the crack in the drapes. She squints, well aware that she has the very definition of a killer hangover.

Her head is pounding, like Metallica decided to hold a private concert inside her cranium. Despite her genius-level IQ, she can't quite figure out the best way to get out from under Oliver’s arm. Even worse, she kind of likes it here beside him. She’s fighting the urge to snuggle up closer, maybe even nuzzle her nose into his neck, wake him up with--

She squeezes her eyes shut and groans softly as she pushes that last thought out of her mind. She needs to get out and as far away from him as possible. Fast.

Gently, she nudges his arm off of her, holding her breath when he stirs. But he doesn’t wake up, which gives her the perfect opportunity to slip out from under the covers, her back shivering as the cold air hits her bare skin. Her eyes scan the room, relief filling her when she catches sight of the red heap on the floor a few feet away. She makes a dash for it, throwing her dress over her head and pulling it down in one swift motion, her eyes sweeping the room again, this time for her underwear. Oliver shifts, a low contented moan escaping as his arm reaches out towards the now empty expanse of the bed where she lay earlier, and she has never known herself to move faster than she does at that moment, grabbing her shoes on the way to the door and snatching her purse off the floor at the last second before the door shuts quietly behind her.

By the time Oliver wakes up, she’s gone.


	2. Chapter 2

He buries his head under the pillow, all too aware of the emptiness on the other side of the bed.  
  
Grabbing blindly at the bedside table for his phone, he feels the undeniable scratch of lace beneath his fingers. He slowly rolls over, sitting up, grunting as he does, curiosity getting the better of him.  Finally upright, he looks down at his hands, his eyes slow to focus.  
  
It’s underwear. Black, lace underwear. Felicity’s black, lace underwear.  
  
He groans, falling back onto the bed, unsurprised to find a mirror hanging from the ceiling. He looks like he got hit by a truck. Hell, he feels like he got hit by a truck.  
  
Uncomfortable with his reflection, he sits up, locating his phone, not yet dropping the panties in his hand.  
  
51 missed calls, 37 voicemails, and over 100 texts. The last five all from Thea.  
  
Fuck.  
  
He wants to storm down to her room to continue the fight from last night. But instead he takes a couple of quick, short breaths before making his way to the shower. He lets the almost too hot water run over his body, washing her scent from him.  He takes a minute to examine the wedding band on his left hand, admires the way it looks against his skin as he scrubs his body. He can feel the scratch marks on his back, can see several on his sides. He wonders if he left her with at least one hickey on her perfect skin, a sadistic smile covering his face at the idea.  
  
In the light of the morning, the details from the night before are blurry, but there are some undeniable facts: he and Felicity got drunk, married, and had some very angry sex after she blamed him for the failure of her relationship.    
  
Even without the alcohol in his system, the accusation still stings.  
  
Once the water runs cold, he forces himself to get out, pulling up the mantle of cool, quiet anger that had been his salvation during those five years of hell, finally ready to do battle with the one person he never expected to.  
  
When she opens her door, he shoves his phone at her. “Explain this.”  
  
“Oliver,” she says, her voice breaking around his name. It takes all his self-control not to reach for her and reassure her that everything will be okay. Then she holds up her phone, an image of the two of them kissing in the chapel displayed under a massive headline: ‘Queen Gets Married.’ The website is CNN, which means the photo will be everywhere by now. He notices she’s still wearing the ring he’d placed on her finger the night before.  
  
He remembers the evening through the haze of alcohol. Remembers it started with him trying to cheer her up, cajoling her into the drinking game despite the fact he hates to drink anymore. Remembers he was the one who put them in the cab to the Little White Chapel. Remembers her joy at the idea of fulfilling a lifelong romantic dream. He remembers, distinctly, that she said something about not doing traditional vows because of the “obey” part. From there, it gets more fuzzy.  
  
Lazy snapshots of them tumbling into his suite. Her laughter. Then her anger. His anger. The feel of her skin moving against his.  
  
He almost turns to bolt as that last image assaults him. Because fuck, that’s too much for him to handle at the moment. But Felicity is already apologizing, bumbling her way through it.  
  
So he stays, following her into the room and collapsing onto the couch, wishing there was a way to set things right.

 

* * *

  
“I know I should have waited for you to wake up, but I freaked out. I just…I mean…I’m not like you, I don’t have any experience with this kind of thing,” she rambles. He cringes at her words.  
  
It's been a slow process, trying to piece the night together. She remembers the frustration she unleashed upon him. She's still trying to figure out why she did it. Maybe it was the alcohol. She'd always been an emotional drunk. Or maybe it was the text message reminding her she had lost a chance at something safe, normal, and easy; the chance to be with someone who didn't have the power to break her the way Oliver did.  
  
Her hands come up, fingers weaving into her hair as she sinks into the couch, consciously maintaining her distance from him.  He sighs loudly, his head lolling back and resting on the cushions.  
  
“Well this tops the very long list...,” he drawls, pausing to rub his hands over his face, “of unexpected things I’ve done drunk.” His thumb and index finger stretch over his forehead to massage his temples.  
  
She stares at him in shock. That's what she is to him. Just another name on his roster of regrets.  
  
Self-preservation kicks in.  
  
“Yeah, well clearly I don’t make very good decisions when I’m wasted on tequila,” she retorts, pulling the ring off her finger and tossing it towards the trash can. Oliver’s head jerks up in shock as he watches the platinum wedding band roll to a stop beside the metal bin. “Really, Oliver, the next time I tell you to leave me alone, you should listen and walk in the opposite direction.” She doesn’t even attempt to hide her rage, finally realizing how angry she is at him for marrying her when drunk.  
  
Is that the only way she can get him to commit? When he’s wasted on tequila, his ability to make sane decisions compromised? He’d told her he loved her, she remembers that part, but she’s heard that before. And he’s walked away before, too.  
  
His jaw ticks in annoyance, eyes flick in her direction. “You’re blaming this on me?”  
  
She isn’t. Not really. She knows exactly whose fault this is. She’s the brains between them, the voice of reason, and if it was anyone’s responsibility to make sure she and Oliver didn’t get piss drunk and married in Vegas, it was hers.  
  
But she’s tired of being the one who screws things up, given that the first serious relationship she’s had in years just crashed and burned fifteen hours earlier, indirectly because of Oliver. She can’t handle this being her fault too. She won't let herself get dumped a second time, and she’ll be damned if she lets him walk away from her again.  
  
No. Not this time. It's her turn.  
  
“Oh I don’t know Oliver…” Bitterness is carved into the edges of her words. “Who else do you expect me to blame? I told you I wanted to be left alone, but you and your stupid hero complex.” She clenches her jaw, nursing the animosity and running his stupid “ _because of the life I lead…I need to keep you safe”_ bullshit speeches in her head on a loop. It feeds her anger, allowing it to finally bubble, violently, up to the surface.  
  
“I was trying to be a good friend!”  
  
“A good friend doesn’t take advantage of his drunk partner,” she snaps back, knowing exactly what she just accused him of. She regrets the words the moment they leave her mouth, before she can even register the pain that flickers unto his face. But she’s too proud to take it back, telling herself that if he had never showed up at her hotel room with that damn sexy smile of his and ordered that bottle of tequila, she might still be buried under the covers, completely clothed, with a box of tissues and all the chocolate the minibar has to offer.  
  
He looks like she’s just slapped him.

“You were there too, Felicity. And I don’t recall you ever saying no. You want to blame me for everything that’s going wrong with your life, go right ahead,” he says, his voice rising. “You want to blame me for your relationship failing, fine. I’ll take the blame, I’ll be your fucking punching bag. But we both know I wasn’t the one who walked out on you last night and I sure as hell wasn’t the one who walked out on you this morning.”  
  
He's right. She knows he is, but she can't put herself on the line again. The fear is all encompassing as flashbacks of the night come back. This is what she has to remember their first time together, the sex fueled by rage. His anger with every thrust. How much she enjoyed it despite the circumstances. How much they both did.  
  
She refuses to build a marriage on that. She won’t hold him to a promise he never would have made sober.  
  
“We’re getting an annulment," she announces, refusing to acknowledge the guilt that threatens her resolve, the grief that’s pushing her over the edge. “The sooner it’s done, the better.”  
  
Oliver looks at her, opening his mouth as though he wants to say something, but she knows better than to stay and listen. So she walks into her bathroom and slams the door.  
  
When she emerges half an hour later, Oliver is gone.

 

* * *

  
  
Oliver scoffs when he pulls their rings and her panties from his pocket, putting them on his bedside table, thankful to be back in his own room, in his own apartment.  
  
“I don’t care if you were drunk. Congrats all the same,” Thea had said to him before they boarded the plane home. She was the only person he’d called back that day. They were trying to communicate more, be more open. With her and Roy traveling for a month, those phone calls were even more important. “You two deserve each other.”  
  
Nothing he had said could convince Thea it wasn’t a match made in heaven.  
  
He scrubs his hand over his face, his eyes resting on their wedding rings, still annoyed she had so casually abandoned hers. He couldn’t help himself from picking it up before leaving her room.  
  
Shaking his head, he decides to focus on the logistics of their marriage, the press and QC, even though they had sorted most of it out on the plane back to Starling.  
  
His first concern had been the paparazzi, but Felicity had quickly filled in that she’d taken extreme measures to assure no one could track down either of their addresses. He didn’t ask for details, refused to give in and smile with pride because of course Felicity had already taken care of it.  
  
His next concern was the annulment. Felicity spent most of the plane ride back looking into it, while he had sent off an email to the team of lawyers he paid a ridiculous amount of money to. He wasn’t about to fight her on it. If she didn’t want to be married to him, who was he to stand in the way?  
  
The last and final concern, he had waited to address when he dropped her off at her townhouse, following her inside and doing a quick security check before finding her standing beside the open front door, waiting for him to leave.    
  
“We didn’t use protection,” he had said without preamble.  
  
“I’m on the pill,” she had responded, her tone challenging him right back.  
  
“But you’ve been with Ray,” And he tried to stop himself, knowing it’s a dick move, but the words come before he can get them back. “Do I need to worry about picking up anything?”  
  
He had watched as her face paled, her mouth falling open in shock. He’d give anything in the world for a time machine, wishing he could take back the words the second they had left his mouth.  
  
He hadn’t waited for her to respond, turning and leaving, hoping the gnawing guilt in his gut would go away.  
  
He pulls his phone from his pocket as he receives yet another text message from a former frat brother congratulating him on marrying such a ‘hottie.’ He ignores it, opening his inbox to see if he has heard back from his lawyers. Waiting for him is an email from someone named Lucy with the subject ‘Wedding Video.’ Further dread fills him, opening it and clicking on the attachment.  
  
 _“You decided to write your own vows,” an Elvis impersonator drawls as the video starts playing. He’s standing between a smiling Oliver and Felicity._  
  
 _“Oh yeah, yep,” Felicity snorts on film, adjusting her white baseball cap. “No way are we using the traditional ones.”_  
  
He exits out of it before it can go any further, their blissfully happy expressions a punch in the gut. Standing, he grabs the two rings from the bedside table, moving to his closet where he keeps his safe.  
  
The safe contains everything that’s dear to him. His mom’s wedding ring, Thea’s birth certificate, the watch his father had given him on his eighteenth birthday. He sets the rings next to it, but doesn’t dwell on why he wants to keep them somewhere secure.  
  
The next day he walks into QC with his head held high, daring anyone to say anything.  He has his new secretary, the one who smells like cheap perfume, draft a memo stating ‘any QC employees caught talking about recent events would be suspended without pay.'  
  
Then he waits.  
  
Sure enough, at 9:15 AM on the dot, Diggle comes sauntering through, deceptively casual as he charms his secretary before walking into Oliver’s office, taking a seat opposite him.  
  
“I leave you alone for three days,” Diggle says with a laugh and a sly smile.  
  
“We’re getting an annulment,” Oliver informs him, before Dig can say something dumb like ‘congratulations.’  
  
The smile fades from Diggle’s face, his expression turning to the one Oliver knows means he’s disappointed him.  
  
“Please, not now,” Oliver asks, holding up a hand in a gesture he hopes will stop the man.  
  
“Oliver,” Diggle says, standing. “When are you going to learn, you can’t outrun this thing?”  
  
He leaves Oliver to mull over his latest drop of wisdom.

 

* * *

  
  
It’s been two months since Vegas.  
  
Diggle’s eyes are wide as he stares at the huge burger that is set down in front of Felicity. "The half-pounder?"  
  
She shrugs. “What? I’m starving.”  
  
“Yeah, you’ve had quite the appetite lately.” Dig chuckles as he dips a fry into the dish of ketchup in front of him and bites into it. “Reminds me of when Lyla was pregnant. Man, that woman turned into a carnivore…steak, burgers—.“  
  
From the corner of his eye, he sees Felicity freeze.  
  
Her mouth is full, cheeks still puffed out, but she’s no longer chewing. Slowly, she sets the burger down on her plate and reaches into her bag. She had steak and eggs for breakfast not more than three hours ago, and some beef jerky for a snack half an hour before they left for lunch. She hadn’t worried much about all the extra calories because for some reason, they were all going to her breasts, and she didn’t exactly hate that her bra was fitting more snug than usual.  
  
Dig’s eyebrows draw together in concern. “Felicity?”  
  
She resumes chewing, slower this time, swallowing as she pulls her tablet out, her finger deftly gliding over the surface, ushering it to life. Her heart is pounding as she clicks on the calendar icon, focusing on the week when her period is due. It’s full of appointment dates and work deadlines, but nothing else.  
  
All the color drains from her face, and despite everything they’ve been up against, she’s never felt more dread than she does at this moment.  
  
“Hey, you okay?”  
  
She holds a finger up, not even looking at him, a simple gesture asking for patience. She swipes to the next screen, her stomach clenching as she stares at the previous month, also unmarked. The low gasp that escapes her lips tells him something is very, very wrong.  
  
She hasn’t had a period in two months.  
  
“You’re freaking me out here, Felicity.”  
  
Her eyes are wide when she turns back to him. “No judgment?” she asks tentatively.  
  
“Never,” he reassures her, reaching out to place a comforting hand on hers.  
  
She nods gratefully, her voice trembling. “I need to go to the nearest drugstore and buy a pregnancy test.”

 

* * *

 

Diggle stares at the pile of rectangular boxes Felicity’s dumped on the kitchen counter. “You know they all do the same thing, right?”  
  
“I got an odd number. Just in case half say positive, and half say negative…one can be the tiebreaker.”   
  
The edges of Diggle’s lips curl up at her logic. “Of course,” he agrees.   
  
“So what’s the best way to do this?”   
  
“I found out Lyla was pregnant three months in…I wasn’t exactly around for this part of it, but I’m pretty sure the box has some pretty specific instructions.”   
  
She’s been in impossible situations before, but she’s always known Oliver would come through for her. Pulling the cardboard box open and stripping the shiny pink wrapper off the first test, she’s acutely aware of just how empty she feels to be devoid of that confidence.   
  
She bites down on her lower lip and turns to Dig. “What if it’s positive?”   
  
He flashes her a grin so wide, it triggers the slightest flutter of excitement through her. “Then I’m going to be a very proud uncle.”   
  
She manages to force a smile through. “Here goes nothing,” she mumbles, her legs wobbly as she moves into the bathroom and shuts the door.

 _“We should…” Oliver’s breath is warm against her neck, his lips trailing over her jawline. “Protection…,” he mutters in between kisses. His hands are fumbling with her bra clasp, and she can feel him hard and ready in between her legs._   
  
_She slides the sleeves of his shirt off his arms, her lips landing back on his after he tosses his polo over the side of the bed. “Don’t worry about it, I’m on the pill,” she tells him, her fingers trying to undo the button on his jeans. It was supposed to encourage him to keep going, but instead, he stops, pulling back and looking at her._   
  
_“You’re on the pill,” he repeats, looking away. “Because of Ray.”_   
  
_“I’m on the pill because it’s effective birth control,” she points out dryly, refusing to acknowledge the part about Ray. She curls her index finger under his chin, turning him towards her, her lips coming up to catch his again. Her hand wraps around his length, massaging gently, but it takes another second before he kisses her back, rough and hungry, and starts moving again, his hands slipping under her panties and sliding them off of her._

Effective birth control, she had told him. Except she forgot about the bullet that grazed her a week earlier and the round of antibiotics she had taken that would have rendered the pill completely useless.  
  
A fact made abundantly clear by the positive pregnancy test she's now holding in between her fingers.

“We’re sure two lines means positive?”   
  
Dig nods, pointing to the string of tests sitting on her bathroom counter. “Two lines, and that plus sign, and those three that says “pregnant” pretty much conclusively points to you being—“   
  
“Pregnant.” She sinks down to the tile floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. It’s a small bathroom, but Dig somehow manages to make himself small enough to squeeze into the space beside her.  He places an arm around her, letting her cry in silence, the one-armed hug a reminder that he loves her and he’s there.

  
“I’m so stupid,” she gasps out as her fingers come up to wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks. She takes a few deep breaths, leaning her head on Dig’s chest, closing her eyes as he runs his hand over her hair.   
  
“It’s going to be okay, Felicity,” he whispers. He knows what she’s thinking, what she’s worried about, and his next words are exactly what she needs to hear. “You are going to be a great mom. Sometimes the things we don’t plan turn out to be the best things that could possibly happen to us. Trust me on that?”   
  
She gives him a small nod. Thinks to herself one day she might believe him. Today is not that day.   
  
“Don’t tell him,” she pleads, looking up at him. “Please.”   
  
He doesn’t ask who, never even inquired who the father was. He hasn’t pushed much about what was going on between her and Oliver, or what happened between her and Ray. She knows he’ll listen if she ever wanted to talk, but the truth was, that night ruined the best thing she had going for herself, and the last thing she wants to do is remember all the stupid missteps, analyze every little mistake she made that led to this.   
  
He nods. She hopes he’ll leave it at that, but Dig’s never been one to bite his tongue to skirt the tough questions. “But you will, right?”   
  
She hasn’t exactly thought that far ahead. She and Oliver hadn’t exchanged much beyond background information and addresses on Starling City’s big bad of the week, and now she has to tell him that the pill didn’t work and she’s pregnant with his baby.   
  
But of course she’s going to tell him. How can she not? Despite everything, lying to Oliver, even by omission, isn’t an option. That, and she’s going to get bigger, giving away the fact that there’s a person growing inside her uterus. She lays her hands on top of her still flat tummy.   
  
“Eventually,” she answers, rising to her feet. “When I have things figured out a little better.”   
  
Dig throws her a sympathetic look before standing up himself, handing her one of the pregnancy tests. “You should hang on to this. Lyla did. It might not feel like it now, but someday you’re going to want to look back and remember the moment the little boy or girl in there changed your life forever.”   
  
She trusts him enough to know he’s right, so she takes the test and places it in her medicine cabinet, gathering the rest and throwing it in the trash.   
  
“I’m going to take a few days off,” she tells him a few minutes later as they’re sitting on her couch devouring some mint chocolate chip ice cream and more beef jerky, watching a Friends rerun on television. “I just need to sort through some things.”   
  
Dig tilts his chin at her in understanding. “You take all the time you need, Felicity. I’m right here for whatever you need.” He squeezes her knee gently, before leaning back and turning his attention back to the show. “And just for the record, so is Oliver.”

  
She digs her spoon back into her ice cream and pretends she doesn’t hear him.

 

* * *

  
  
“What do you mean she took a couple of days off?” Oliver asks the Head of Applied Sciences again.  
  
“She said it was an emergency. Called me late last night,” the older man replies, wringing his hands nervously. “I didn’t think it mattered. She already finished the project assigned to her this week and is half way through next week’s assignment. Your wife--”  
  
But he cuts himself off after that, his eyes going big as he watches Oliver, probably remembering the memo.  
  
“Next time she decides to take time off, please inform me,” Oliver says, waiting for the man to nod before leaving.  
  
This was just what he needs, he thinks, as he passes employees in the hall who had no doubt overheard the conversation. Just when the media and rumors start dying down, Felicity pulls a stunt like this to stir everything up again. Which is specially annoying now, when his lawyers are calling him every hour reminding him about the time limit on the annulment, informing him the papers need to be signed by the end of the week.  
  
Except now Felicity is missing.  
  
“Where is she?” he asks Diggle when he gets back up to his office.  
  
“Central City. Spending a couple of days with Iris,” Diggle says, not even looking up from his magazine.  
  
“Is Iris okay?”  
  
“As far as I know.”  
  
“Then why,” Oliver grinds out, “did Felicity take an emergency trip to Central City?”  
  
“Oliver,” Diggle says, finally looking up at him. “I think that's a question to ask Felicity.”  
  
“I have asked her.” He holds up his phone. “I’ve texted and called. No response.”  
  
“She’s fine.” Diggle drops his eyes down to the magazine. “She texted me half an hour ago.”  
  
Oliver slumps into his chair, the fight leaving him as quickly as it had found him. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
Since Vegas, things between them had been stilted. At QC, they only spoke when necessary. At the foundry, they only spoke when necessary. Nothing beyond that.  
  
He hates it. Hates the way she addresses him so formally now. Hates how he sometimes comes back after patrol to hear her laughing with Dig or Roy, her voice cutting off the minute she sees him.  
  
The only time they even brought up Vegas was when his lawyers had informed him the annulment would be delayed slightly as they put together the appropriate documents, asking for another couple of weeks, he’d informed Felicity in the foundry that night about the delay. She’d shrugged in acceptance, almost like they were talking about the weather instead of the end of their marriage.    
  
What he hadn’t told her was that his lawyers had had the annulment papers ready for the last three weeks, not passing on the information for reasons he refused to examine. He kept telling himself he’d tell her as soon as they started talking again, as soon as he was sure he isn’t going to lose her completely.  
  
He thinks about that night in Vegas a lot. Thinks about how she felt in his arms. But he thinks most about their fight, the bitterness in her voice unlike anything he’d heard from her. He wants to fix it.  
  
He misses her like crazy.  
  
Sighing, he sits up, sending her one final text message letting her know the papers are ready and they have until Friday to sign them. Hoping that this isn’t the end, hoping against hope that whatever she finds in Central City will somehow lead her back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

“I know this is easier said than done, but you have to stop crying.” Iris West hands Felicity another tissue from the box she’s holding in her lap. “Research shows babies are conscious in the womb. All that crying is going to make this baby think you don’t want it.”

She does want it. That much she’s figured out. Which is part of the problem. She’s gone through all the pros and cons of having this child, and the decision to keep the baby seems almost selfish. Because her life? It’s the epitome of danger and chaos. Bringing a child into her world is downright irresponsible.

So why can’t she talk herself out of it?

Ironically, no matter how far she gets from Vegas, she still managed to end up exactly where her mother was, knocked up and married to a man who doesn’t love her.

Barry appears, a glass of water in one hand. She’s still sniffling when she takes it, picking up the translucent yellow capsule Iris is holding out to her.

She has a baby to take care of and that starts right now, she thinks, as she pops the pre-natal vitamin into her mouth and swallows.

She notices immediately the look of affection on Barry’s face when he glances at Iris. _That’s_ love, she thinks to herself. Barry would marry Iris sober. _That’s_ the difference. The realization triggers a fresh wave of tears.

Barry sits down next to her, placing a hand on her back. “You know you can stay as long as you need, but Ray’s going to want to know--”

She cuts him off before he can say anything else. “It’s not Ray’s.”

His eyes go wide, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. “Sorry, I just thought--,” he rambles, running his fingers over the top of his head awkwardly. “Wow, how do I get out this?” he asks, looking helplessly at Iris.

“I think maybe there are some dirty dishes in my sink you could take care of,” Iris suggests, tilting her head in the direction of her kitchen.

Barry looks relieved, jumping up from the couch, pulling up the sleeves of his sweater until they rest above his elbows. “Right. Yes. Awesome. If you guys need anything, I’m going to be--” he presses his lips into a straight line and points two fingers towards the kitchen, “in there...being...really...busy.”

“It’s Oliver’s--” Felicity blurts out before he’s out of earshot.

He spins around and stares at her, his mouth open in shock.

“Oliver?” he squeaks. “Oliver Queen, Oliver?”

“No, Oliver Twist,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “Of course I mean Oliver Queen.”

He waves a finger between her and the front door. “So you and Oliver…? You guys...you?" His voice fades into silence as he tries to process the information.

“Conceived this baby by looking at each other,” she answers sarcastically.

“Uh...no, I mean. That’s awesome!” he finally says, throwing his hands excitedly in the air. “Coz Oliver’s great! He’s--”

Barry goes quiet as Felicity’s buries her face back in her hands and sobs.

“You know, Barry, come to think of it, my refrigerator also needs to be cleaned,” Iris points out, gritting her teeth. “You should probably get started on that. Now.”

He looks like he wants to reach for Felicity again, stretching out his hand before thinking twice and pulling it back to his side.

“Yeah. Absolutely,” he agrees, his shoulders sagging. “And if you think of anything else that I can do, anything you need, Felicity, you...you..." He sighs loudly. "I'm going to be in there," he repeats, disappearing behind the swinging door.

Iris’ hand replaces his on Felicity’s back.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity apologizes in between hiccups, grabbing another tissue. “Apparently the part about hormones and being unable to control the crying is all true. And the crankiness. Also, my boobs are killing me.”

Iris chuckles, pursing her lips at the sight of Felicity’s chest. “Well, good. If they’re going to look that good, the least they can do is hurt.”

Felicity starts laughing. “They’ve been so sore. But they do look pretty great, don’t they?” she asks with a sigh.

“I think they were the first thing Barry noticed when you stepped off the train.”

Felicity laughs again. She made a promise to Barry she’d keep his secrets--both of them--so she doesn’t tell Iris that there’s only one woman Barry has eyes for, and it’s never been her.

Her phone buzzes beside her, another message from Oliver. She picks it up to turn it off, not bothering to open it.

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” Iris starts, tucking her feet underneath her legs. “And I’m ready to pull out my nail polish collection and go sleepover crazy on you. I happen to have Twister in the hallway cabinet and I’m kindof a packrat so I’m pretty sure I could scrounge up some super old Seventeen magazines…So long as you’re here, I can promise you some clean, good girl fun.” She places a hand at the side of her neck and tilts her head at Felicity. “But Barry’s right...about telling Oliver. I know you don’t want to do that right now, and it’s none of my business what’s going on between you guys, but that’s not just your baby, Felicity. Whether you like it or not, it’s his, too.”

It occurs to her then that if there is going to be a piece of anyone growing inside of her, she’s glad it’s Oliver.

Felicity looks down at her fingernails thoughtfully. “I know.”

“I’ve only met him once, but he seems pretty great.”

Felicity dabs at her eyes, not thinking about the words that spill out of her mouth. “He is. He’s great.” It’s one of the most honest statements she’s had the courage to admit to herself in the last two months. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ll bet.” Iris leans back into the couch, ready to hear more.

“We were there, when Dig welcomed his little girl,” Felicity says, letting her heart take over the conversation. “The way Oliver held that child...if you saw him…” She smiles at the memory. “He knew exactly how to hold her, you know? I don’t know why that surprised me, but it did. And the way he kissed her, and looked at her, and told her he’d always protect her.” She shrugs a shoulder, looking thoughtful as her gaze falls down to her stomach. “I remember thinking he’d make a great dad some day.”

It’s the first time she lets herself consider that maybe he’d be happy about the baby.

Iris raises a questioning eyebrow at her. “And you haven’t told him why?”

“It’s--”

“Complicated,” Iris finishes for her. As if sensing this is all the confessing Felicity can handle for the night, she rises from the couch and points a thumb in the direction of her bedroom. “I’m going to go get some nail polish. Any color preference?”

“Surprise me,” Felicity replies, even though she feels she’s had enough surprises in the last week to last her a lifetime.

She stares at the vitamin bottle in front of her and makes a to-do list in her head. She has to find a doctor, for one. Do some research about birthing classes. Is it too soon to look into how to babyproof her townhouse? Her office has to be converted into a nursery. She wonders what color to paint it--blue and pink are out, definitely. She refuses to promote any gender stereotypes when raising this baby. She likes yellow, but Oliver will probably suggest green just to annoy her.

Warmth spreads through her as she imagines the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, the grin that covers half his face when he’s happy. She used to be able to get him to smile like that all the time. It hits hard just how much she misses him.

She doesn’t fight the smile that makes its way from her heart to her lips as she considers that maybe, just maybe, she’s going to give him something to smile about again.

* * *

Three days pass with no word from Felicity. Three days where Diggle refuses to answer his questions about her sudden trip to Central City. But three whole days with no communication is too much in Oliver’s book.

How can he protect her if he doesn’t even know where she is?

He feels no guilt whatsoever when he picks the lock on her back door, telling himself it wouldn’t have been necessary if she’d just given him a key like he requested. Or better yet, would just answer her fucking phone and give him some answers.

Quietly, he pads through the house, checking each room as he goes. He’s hoping she left her tablet and that will provide some answers. The kitchen is clean. Everything put away. The living room is the same. No trace of her tablet. He checks out her office, goes through her garbage to see if there is anything there to give him a clue as to why she left.

Finding nothing, he heads to her room, for the first time feeling like he’s crossing the line. He really has no right to invade her privacy this way. He hesitates in front of the door, deciding it’s a line he can’t cross.

Turning to leave, he catches sight of her bathroom, the door left ajar, Felicity’s overfilled trashcan catching his eye.

He knows those boxes.

The world goes quiet as he walks forward, his mouth going dry while his heart starts to race. He’s breathing heavily by the time he is inside, looking down at the overflowing bin. He can see one of the tests sticking out, a plus sign clearly showing.

He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving that little white stick. Knowing the results aren’t going to change no matter how long he stares at them, he reaches down to grab the boxes from the trash, taking them with him as he moves to her living room, collapsing into her arm chair.

He isn’t sure how long he has been waiting when he hears her front door open. He knows it’s her from the way her feet move. She walks in, flipping on the light, seeing him instantly. She sucks in a deep breath, her eyes darting to what’s in his hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” he asks as he drops the pregnancy tests at his feet.

“You went through my trash?” she asks, keeping her eyes trained on him, not even bothering to look at the boxes. “Who do you think you are? No. Who do you think I am? I’m not some petty criminal, Oliver.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “You do not get to blame this on me too. You were the one that ran to Central City, Felicity. We missed our window to file annulment papers because you wouldn’t pick up your phone.”

“Fine. We’ll get a divorce then,” she bites back. “But it’s not my fault you have crappy lawyers that waited until the last minute to get the paperwork done. Don’t put that on me.”

He changes the subject before he accidentally tells her the papers have been ready for weeks or that his lawyer had already emailed him informing him they would start drafting the divorce papers.

“I thought you were on the pill,” he says.

“Yeah, well, looks like we forgot about that round of antibiotics I did after getting shot by China White,” she says with a bitter shrug.

“Oh.” He drops his head into his hands. He’d forgotten completely. Only four days before they’d left for Vegas, China White had managed to get one last shot off, grazing Felicity’s side, leaving a wound that hadn't needed a single stitch. But Diggle had insisted she do a quick course of antibiotics, just to be safe.

He should have remembered. But he’d spent much of Vegas trying _not_ to think about Ray whispering in Felicity’s ear, Ray making Felicity laugh, Ray putting his hand far too low on Felicity’s back.

“Is Ray the father?”

He doesn’t even know why he asks. Whether it’s his, Ray’s, or some unknown third party’s, it doesn’t matter to him. No matter how bad things are between them, they are still a team, still partners. He loves her. He isn’t about to let her go through this alone.

She grits her teeth, her voice tense as her eyes lock with his. “Oliver, get out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, that's the end for today. Sorry about that guys. But hey, at least you know whose kid it is, right?
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your support and feedback! We are working hard to finish this story, and we really hope you stick with us until the end.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, sorry! I accidentally deleted this chapter while editing! -Anna (fanontocanon)
> 
> Also, thank you for all those who already commented.

So much for making him happy, she thinks bitterly, as she glares back at him.

Oliver folds his arms and scowls. “No.”

“Get out!”

He laces his fingers together and leans his arms on his knees, never breaking eye contact. “I’m not going anywhere. You and I are going to talk. Now. No more running.” His jaw is set in a way that tells her this isn’t an argument she can win.

Her lips are trembling, tears already forming in her eyes, and she takes a deep breath to center herself. She can feel her heart breaking into a thousand, tiny pieces as she realizes that he’s hoping it’s Ray’s so he can be off the hook.

He doesn’t want a baby. Or maybe he just doesn’t want one with her.

She’s strong enough to do this alone, she tells herself. She doesn’t need him. She can tell him right here, right now that it’s not his; it’s Ray’s.

Only it isn’t. There’s no way it can be. She and Ray hadn’t slept together for almost a month before the Vegas trip. She blamed it on the burgeoning crime rate of Starling City. He? He blamed it on Oliver.

She pushes the door shut, places her bag down on the couch. It’s now or never.

“It’s not Ray’s.” She can’t bear to look at him, completely missing the look of relief that flashes on his face. “But you can have a paternity test if you want,” she offers bitterly. "Not that it matters. I--we--don’t need anything from you. I can do this alone.”

“Felicity,” he says, his tone patient and gentle. He sounds different, like a switch has been flipped. “I want to be part of this.” The corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly.

“We should stay married,” he suggests, almost too casually.

His words are like static, making her wince. She feels her heart drop to her stomach. He finally offers to stay, and it’s because she’s pregnant with his kid. Alcohol and pregnancy. Can she be any more of a walking cliche?

She had promised herself, sitting on Iris' couch, that the baby comes first, and she's determined to hold herself to that.

“Yeah. Until the baby is born. It’s what’s best for the baby. We’ll file for divorce after.”

“Felicity--” he says again, standing and walking towards her, reaching for her hand. She pulls away before he can touch her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

She won’t let him get close again. This is over before it ever really began, she reminds herself.

“I’m really tired,” she mumbles, dropping her eyes to the floor. “Can we just talk about this tomorrow?”

His voice is soft as he nods at her. “Whatever you need.” And before she can jerk away, his hand brushes against her cheek, his lips pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead, lingering for a few seconds.

She hates how much she loves the feel of his lips on her skin.

* * *

Oliver had insisted on the best Ob-Gyn in Starling City. By the time Felicity wakes up the next morning, her first pre-natal appointment has already been scheduled.

"I'll pick you up at 10 a.m.," his text reads.

The doorbell rings five minutes before then.

“Oh, look at that, you _do_ know how to use the doorbell,” she mutters sarcastically when she throws the door open.

He cocks his head to one side. “Oh, you’re _here_. I thought maybe you ran off again.”

She ignores him, looking over his shoulder and grinning at the sight of Diggle leaning on the Bentley.

“Dig!” she calls out with a wave, moving down the steps and throwing herself at him.

“Figure things out?” he asks as he wraps his arms around her.

She turns her head in Oliver’s direction. “Getting there,” she answers honestly, feeling more at ease with teasing him this morning than she has in months.

At least they were talking now. There’s that.

“Glad you’re back,” Dig says when he releases her. “For my sake, and for his.”

She doesn’t let herself dwell on his words.

Oliver appears at her side, pulling the door open and jerking his chin, ever so slightly, towards the car. “We should go. I don’t want to be late.”

Felicity slides into the seat, peering up at him over the top rim of her glasses. “Words I never thought I’d hear from your mouth,” she says with a smirk.

* * *

Oliver lays his palm flat on the desk. “Hi. We have a 10:30 appointment with Dr. Parekh,” he says, flashing the receptionist his most charming smile.

“Mr. Queen.” A petite young woman with long, blonde hair and a nametag that says “Veronica” acknowledges him enthusiastically with a flirtatious smile, her cheeks instantly flushed. Felicity rolls her eyes, an impatient huff managing to escape her lips, drawing Oliver’s attention. “Of course, for...?”

“Felicity,” he answers, turning back to the receptionist’s desk.

Veronica snaps her fingers triumphantly. “Oh, right here, Felicity Queen.”

“Smoak,” Felicity corrects automatically. “It’s Felicity Smoak.”

“Of course. Smoak. My mistake.” The young blonde attempts to look apologetic, but the giggle she releases suggests otherwise, and Felicity tries to ignore the wave of possessiveness that washes over her. She has no claim to him. They’re married on paper, nothing beyond that. “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll call you when the doctor is ready? Oh, and I’m going to need you to fill this out.” Veronica’s eyes stay focus on Oliver and Felicity feels the first wave of nausea hit, although she knows it has nothing to do with her pregnancy.

Oliver hands her the questionnaire, and she quickly checks boxes asking if she smokes _(no)_ , drinks alcohol ( _'no'--not since Vegas_ ), has been pregnant before (' _no'_ ). She scribbles down the date of her last period, answering a few more questions before handing the sheet back to Veronica (who she temporarily nicknames she-who-sleeps-with-married-men, before reprimanding herself for being uncharacteristically mean, blaming her irrational animosity on pregnancy hormones).

Her expression remains stoic when Oliver’s hand lands on the small of her back and guides her towards one end of the waiting room. He eases himself into the chair beside her. “Can I get you anything? Water? It looks like they have some tea--” he gestures to the drink cart in the corner.

She shakes her head wordlessly, her hands cold and clammy on her lap, stomach churning as she considers all the things that could go wrong. The two hours she had spent reading about pregnancy complications online was not a good idea. What if it’s an ectopic pregnancy? What if the fetus isn’t viable? What if--?

“Felicity Smoak?”

She jumps up at the sound of her name.

“Here,” she squeaks, clearing her throat.

A young nurse with auburn curls and striking hazel eyes approaches with a clipboard. “Hi, I’m Hannah, Dr. Parekh’s nurse.” She has a skip in her step, a natural gracefulness to her every move. Felicity likes her immediately. “She’s ready for you now. Come right this way.”

Oliver’s hand returns to her back, the pressure light but exactly what she needs to ease her forward. She quickens the pace, her steps more confident as she follows the nurse through a door that leads to a long, narrow corridor, pictures of children lining the stark, white walls, the only color in the otherwise bleak hallway. Her heart swells at the sight, photo after photo of babies, some smiling, others crying, but all beautiful.

She wonders what their baby will look like. She hopes for Oliver’s eyes.

“In here.” The nurse ushers them into a large, bright room. The walls are painted a pleasant shade of cream. A plush, bright red arm chair is situated to the corner next to the examination table. There are two sapphire-colored rolling stools pushed to the far end of the room. Hannah hands Felicity a white gown with blue diamonds from the cabinet. “You should put this on. It’ll be easier for the ultrasound.”

Felicity furrows her eyebrows. “Ultrasound? This early? I’m not even showing yet.” She considers then the bright fuschia dress she’s wearing was not a practical choice.

“Well according to the date of your last period, you’re almost 11 weeks. Plenty to see by then.” Hannah replaces the examination table with a fresh sheet, glancing back to give Felicity a warm smile. “Oh, before you put that on, let me take your weight and blood pressure.”

She finds out she’s gained twelve pounds, and her blood pressure is well within the normal range despite how she spends her nights.

“You need to step out,” Felicity tells Oliver when they’re alone.

“Felicity, I really want to be here for this. I thought I made myself clear.”

She dangles the gown in front of him. “You’re welcome to be here for the ultrasound, Oliver, but I’d like to get into this alone.”

“I’ve already seen you naked,” he points out, a smirk threatening to break through his poker face.

“Yeah. First and last time. That's not happening again." She places a hand on her hip, challenging him.

He holds her gaze for a second, and a familiar flare of desire flashes in his eyes, the same one he had in Vegas right before he kissed her. She fights the blush that’s spreading through her body as her brain is assaulted by images of what happened next.

She taps her foot impatiently against the polished, mahogany floors. “If you want to see this baby today, Oliver…”

His expression switches to resignation before he disappears behind the door.

It takes a few deep breaths to get her pulse to slow down. She gets dressed quickly, popping the door open when she’s done.

“You can come back in,” she tells Oliver.

“Hi, Felicity, I’m Dr. Parekh,” a middle-aged woman with black hair and dark brown eyes enters the room behind him, holding out her hand.

Felicity grips it in a firm handshake, before gesturing to Oliver. “This is--”

“Her husband,” Oliver finishes for her just as she says “the baby’s father.”

Oliver throws her a pointed look before shaking the doctor’s hand.

“So, Felicity--” Dr. Parekh sits on a stool, rolling it towards her. “How have you been feeling? Any symptoms? Nausea? Cravings?”

“Cravings! Beef jerky,” Oliver answers immediately, a hint of amusement in his tone. “She can’t get enough of the stuff.” He sits down on one of the rolling stools and moves it closer to her.

Felicity is dumbfounded, opening her mouth to respond, but closing it again without saying anything. She didn’t think he noticed, the distance between them in the last few months so palpable.

How does he know that? _Why_ does he know that? And more importantly, _why_ does him knowing that trigger a party of dancing butterflies in her stomach?

The doctor chuckles, moving towards the ultrasound machine. “You’re growing a baby. Your body needs the protein.” She waves a hand towards the examination table. “Why don’t you lie down, make yourself comfortable?”

A white sheet is draped over Felicity legs, tucked carefully into the waistband of her panties. Dr. Parekh lifts her gown to expose the barely there baby bump.

“Sorry, it’s going to be cold,” she warns as she squeezes some lubricant over the exposed skin.

Felicity can feel Oliver’s eyes on her. She looks up at him, forcing the corners of her lips up to assure him she’s fine. “It’s not that bad.”

He nods slowly with a tight-lipped smile, reaching for her hand for the second time in twelve hours. Before she can talk herself out of it, she places her palm in his, thinking how odd it is that her fear is fading as her body registers his touch. This doesn’t feel like a mistake, she thinks, when he squeezes gently. The calm in his eyes sweeps through her, as quickly as a wave that leaves the shore smooth before it returns to the ocean, erasing all the marks they left in the sand that led to this.

This feels right even though it shouldn’t. She tells herself she should let go of his hand, pull her fingers away, but then his grip tightens, his smile wide and bright as he shifts to the edge of his seat with baited breath, still looking at her.

His excitement is contagious.

She hears Diggle’s words in her head: _Sometimes the things we don’t plan turn out to be the best things that ever happen to us._ Looking into Oliver’s eyes, she thinks the day has finally come when she understands what that means.

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” Dr. Parekh flips the ultrasound machine on, the wand landing gently on her tummy. She swirls it around, spreading the lubricant, before slowing her movement to explore Felicity’s uterus. Grinning, her finger points to a figure on the screen. “See, right there. There’s your baby.”

Felicity sees it immediately, the small speck of light gray sitting on a concave. She can make out a head and chest. She feels tears prick her eyes, but for completely different reasons than the last few days. It’s not because of anxiety this time. She can’t even remember what she’s supposed to be afraid of, not when she imagines holding a little version of Oliver in her arms.

She’s grinning as she stares at the first picture of her baby. Their baby.

“I can’t see anything but a gray blob,” Oliver says, squinting, sounding disappointed.

Felicity exhales, pointing to the jellybean-shaped figure on the screen. “Right there. See?”

“Oh, yeah, I think I do.” His eyebrows are still furrowed, and she can tell he’s lying, but she doesn’t call him on it. A few seconds pass before he breaks out into laughter, his gleeful expression matching hers. It’s music to her ears.

“I see it,” he reassures her enthusiastically, his eyes a little wider. She knows this time he really does.

“Him or her,” Felicity corrects him. “We should probably stop referring to the baby as an ‘it.’”

Oliver’s grin widens. “Him or her,” he agrees.

The doctor turns the ultrasound machine at an angle so that she can reach the buttons. “Okay,” she says, an expression of amusement etched on her face as she watches them. “You ready to listen to your baby’s heartbeat?”

* * *

“All I want is that sushi,” Felicity sighs, looking longingly at the waiter walking by carrying nigiri. The charity event is in full swing, people milling around the large ballroom, drinking wine, more than a few people glancing their way. He can understand why. It’s their first official outing as a married couple and Felicity’s breasts are looking magnificent.

“One piece isn’t going to hurt you,” Oliver says, moving to grab a piece before it’s too late. Felicity had tried to get out of coming to the party, saying she wasn’t feeling one hundred percent. But Diggle had pointed out she couldn’t hide from the realities of being Mrs. Queen forever.

“All the books say you aren’t supposed to eat raw fish,” she says, eyeing the fish Oliver is offering her.

“Ridiculous.” The corners of his mouth are threatening to smile. “Come on, one piece.”

“No, Oliver.” She smiles up at him, warmth spreading through his body at the ease of their conversation. He nods, knowing pushing her would be fruitless, eating the piece of nigiri in his hand in one bite to get rid of the temptation.

Hope. Hope is what he is feeling. Hope at their future. Hope at what they can become.

Oliver can’t help but marvel at it. So much of his life has been spent without hope, he wasn’t sure what to do with it now. It’s been building since the ultrasound.

No, if he was being honest with himself, ever since she said ‘I do.’

It had been a week and a half since the ultrasound and he still couldn’t explain why it had affected him so much. He couldn’t make heads or tail of the image, pretending for Felicity’s sake that he understood where the arms and legs were. But then the doctor had turned on the sound, moving her wand over Felicity’s stomach until she found the heartbeat.

It had sucked the breath from his lungs. The steady rhythm so unlike his own.

They are having a baby. Together. That heartbeat a physical reminder of what they’d created. He’d gone out that night and bought a Starling City Rockets onesie with a matching mini baseball cap. Felicity had rolled her eyes when she saw it. But he couldn’t be bothered, so overjoyed at the prospect of their future.

"Ollie, congrats," Thea said when he told her over the phone. He could hear the smile in her voice. "You're going to make a great dad. You know that, right?"

He isn’t sure he’s going to be a good parent, no matter what Thea insists. He isn’t confident he won’t screw this kid up. But anytime he starts to panic, he thinks about Felicity, considers all the things they’ve been up against, and all the worry leaves him. They will figure it out, they always find a way to make it work. So he knows, together, they will be great parents.

Now if only he could convince Felicity to let him move in with her, already planning out how to convert her office into a nursery. He’s looked into cribs, car seats, even asked Diggle what the best baby carrier is.

He’s excited and he doesn’t care who knows it, counting down the days until she enters her second trimester and he can officially shout it from the roof tops.

“Oliver!” comes a booming voice, dragging Oliver out of his thoughts.

“Tom,” Oliver says, matching the man’s tone. “Good to see you.”

“You too. You too,” says Tom, shaking his hands vigorously.

“Let me introduce you to my wife, Felicity.” Wow, does he like the sound of that. It’s the first time he’s ever called her that and he can’t wait to do it again.

“I heard you got hitched. Nice to meet you, Felicity,” Tom says with a jovial smile, kissing the back of Felicity’s hand instead of shaking it.

Felicity returns the smile. “You too.”

“Now Oliver, I heard you were trying to get rid of that campground Moira bought years ago,” Tom says, directing his attention back to Oliver. “You know I was the one who told her to buy it in the first place. Too bad the town put the kibosh on a resort. Could have made a killing.”

“You guys talk shop,” Felicity interrupts. “Excuse me. I’m going to run to the ladies’ room.”

Oliver watches her go as he fills Tom in on what's happening with the campground, thinking she looks a little pale, missing her the second she leaves his side.

It takes him fifteen minutes to get out of his conversation, having to promise he’ll let Tom know when he puts the campground on the market.

Felicity still isn’t back.

Finding Diggle, he asks him if he’s seen her.

“Nope,” Diggle says. “She left through that door seventeen minutes ago.”

Oliver already knows that much, retracing her steps. He makes it to the quiet hall, asking a passing waiter where the restrooms were.

“Felicity,” he calls through the door, knocking softly. “You in there?”

“Oliver,” he hears her say, his ear pressed to the door. Her voice throws him, his hand moving toward the knob, trying to get it it open, only to find it locked.

“Open the door,” he commands, his adrenaline already pumping. His sixth sense, the one that has saved him countless times, is kicking into full warning mode. Something is wrong.

One good swift kick, the door splintering under his foot, swinging open to reveal Felicity curled in the fetal position on the floor.

There is blood, lots of blood.

* * *

The cramps are normal. She’s repeated this to herself all through the day. So is the spotting. The doctor confirmed that was to be expected in the first trimester.

“ _Suck it up, Felicity,_ ” she commands herself as she considers that she’s been relatively lucky so far. Save for the sore breasts and constant, insatiable meat cravings, she hasn’t had to suffer through the worst pregnancy had to offer. Not so much as a bout of morning sickness (which, she read on babycenter.com, actually hits at any time of the day). She inhales sharply, relaxing as the cramp dissipates into an unpleasant buzz in her lower abdomen. Not completely gone, but not excruciatingly painful either. She can handle this. No big deal. She places a hand where the pain hit and applies pressure.

She hadn’t told Oliver how she was feeling. They were finally in a good place, and she didn’t want to worry him.

She frowns at her reflection in the mirror, noting how pale she looks, pinching her cheeks in a desperate attempt to bring some color to her face.

Another cramp hits, the most intense one so far. She inhales, filling her lungs to capacity before exhaling, hoping to calm her racing heartbeat, reminding herself worrying isn’t good for the baby. She can’t help the chill of anxiety that sweeps through her, the panic that is starting to set in. They’ve been getting worse since this morning, the last half hour being impossible to ignore.

But then the next cramp hits, and this time she’s doubling over in pain, a strangled cry coming from deep inside, and then she feels it: the surge of warm liquid gushing between her legs.

She’s been through life-threatening situations before, but none of it compares to the raw terror that seizes her at the sight of crimson red soaking through her dress.

Her legs are useless beneath her, unable to hold her up anymore. The spasms are no longer coming in waves, the contractions now constant, searing through her insides, her heart clenching as she realizes exactly what is going on. It makes the pain even more unbearable. The loss of blood has her feeling light-headed, but she is determined not to pass out.

 “Felicity?” she hears his voice on the other side of the door, so near and impossibly far at the same time. “You in there?”

“Oliver,” she says, as loud as she can manage.

“Open the door,” he demands, rattling the door as he tries to reach her.

His voice is tinged with panic, and she forces herself to summon all the strength she has left to unlock the deadbolt, but before she can even take another breath, he’s already kicked the door open. His eyes go wide when she comes into focus, his phone coming out just as he reaches her, one arm pulling her towards him.

She surrenders. The sobs are impossible to fight, rocking every inch of her. She grasps the lapels of his suit as his arms come under her.

“Dig, the car. Hospital. It’s Felicity,” he says into his phone. He lifts her off the ground effortlessly, his breath warm in her ear. "I have you. It's going to be okay."

There’s a tremor in his voice; it lacks the conviction that would let her believe him.

The air is filled with muffled questions, concerned voices of strangers in the background. She leans her head against his chest, tries to drown them out.

_“What happened?”_

_“Is she okay?”_

_“She’s bleeding.”_

_“Mr. Queen, do you need us to call an ambulance?”_

“Get out the way,” Oliver growls, weaving through the crowd quickly.

Dig has the car ready by the time they get to the lobby.

“There’s a lot of blood,” is all Oliver tells him as he eases himself into the backseat of the car, still holding her in his arms. He doesn’t have to tell Diggle to drive fast, the car speeding out of the driveway as violently as if they were in the middle of a high-speed chase.

She whimpers as the pain intensifies, burying her head into Oliver’s chest. He cradles her, his lips pressing kisses into her hair, his hand stroking her cheek. “I have you. I have you,” he keeps repeating, his grip on her tightening like he has the power to keep their baby inside of her. "You’re going to be okay.”

Except she isn’t.

While her maternal instinct hadn’t kicked in to tell her she was having a baby, it seemed to arrive just in time to tell her she had lost one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the source material, we always knew we were heading in this direction. Still, the final decision to write in this event was not taken lightly. There are some parts of this story that have been harder to write than others--this is one of two plot points that was excruciating to explore, and which left us emotionally drained. That being said, after the storm, people get back up and rebuild, and we hope you stick around to see just how Oliver and Felicity do that.
> 
> Thank you so much for your support and encouragement!


	5. Chapter 5

“These things happen,” the doctor says in a quiet tone. “She was still in her first trimester. The risk is always higher during that period.”

“Is she--?” Oliver isn’t even sure what he’s asking, glancing down the empty hallway, remembering the last time he’d been here, he'd kissed her for the first time.

“She’ll be fine,” the doctor assures him. “She’s young and healthy. She should have no problem conceiving again.”

He nods, clenching his jaw. “Thank you. When can I take her home?”

“I’ll start the discharge papers now,” the doctor says, leaving Oliver.

Diggle stands when he walks back in around the drawn curtain.

“What’d he say?”

“That she’s healthy,” Oliver looks at a sleeping Felicity, reaching down to hold her hand, quoting the doctor with a shrug. “He said ‘these things happen’”

The words are not comforting, the lack of proper explanation for why this is happening to them another punch in the gut.

“I’ll pull the car around front,” Diggle says when Felicity’s eyes flutter open, leaving them alone.

“Hey,” he says, his free hand reaching out to push her hair behind her ear. Her hand in his turns, so their fingers entwine.

Her voice is scratchy, monotone. “Did the doctor come?”

“Yeah,” he says. “He says I can take you home.”

“The baby.” Her voice is so quiet he almost doesn’t hear her. Her eyes are blinking rapidly. He knows what’s coming.

“Hey, hey,” he says, climbing next to her on the bed. He pulls her against him, kissing the top of her head, rubbing her back. Her first sob escapes as she wraps her arms around him tightly, tucking her head under his chin as the tears fall.

He holds her, wants desperately to soothe her, but he doesn’t know what to say; doesn’t have the right words. He thinks there probably aren’t any.

“I want to go home,” she says sometime later, pulling back to look at him.

“Okay,” he agrees, wiping away the last of her tears with his thumb. “We can go back to my--”

“No, my home. My bed.”

He nods, agreeing with her. Whatever she needs.

He helps her stand, throwing his jacket over her shoulders, knowing the hospital scrubs she’s wearing won't provide much heat. He’d instructed the nurse to throw her dress away, certain she wouldn’t want the memories.

Diggle gives her a long hug when they make it out to the car. He asks her if she wants him to stop at Big Belly Burger.

“Home,” she says, shaking her head. Diggle nods, meeting Oliver’s eyes over her head.

He’s glad to know he isn’t the only one feeling helpless.

The car ride is silent. Oliver holds Felicity’s hand the whole way, not letting go as they pull up in front of her townhouse. Diggle follows them up the walk, but she turns on them when she reaches her door, putting a hand out.

“I know you want to help,” she says, looking at both of them. “But I just really want to be alone right now. Please respect that.”

There is no way in hell he’s leaving her alone after what happened. “Felicity--”

“Please,” she begs, her voice the meekest he’s ever heard it. “Please, don’t make me use my loud voice.”

“Okay,” he agrees, taking a step back, knowing defeat when he sees it.

He watches her open the door, giving them both a final look, before closing it behind her. Oliver collapses onto her front step, running a hand through his hair, noticing that he has blood stains on his pants for the first time.

“I’ll bring you a change of clothes and a blanket,” Diggle says, already knowing he won’t be budging from that spot for the rest of the evening.

“Thanks, John.”

“Oliver,” Diggle says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He can’t respond, his eyes burning a little as he tries to nod a thank you.

His loss, he thinks as Diggle drives away. And what a loss it was.

There is a distant memory of him going through this before, the relief and hollow feeling when she’d called to tell him she’d lost the baby. He’d offered her help, wished her good luck, and had never spoken to her again.

But this? This is entirely different. The hollow feeling is deeper, vast, all encompassing. A huge weight pressing on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

He’s thinking about that heartbeat, the tiny little ‘thump, thump, thump’ that had come out so loud and clear from the speakers. He thinks about Felicity’s hand tightening in his, her face lighting up at the sound.

He glances back at her closed door, knowing he can’t even begin to calculate how much he’s lost tonight.

* * *

Felicity breaks down almost the moment the door closes, her bag hitting the floor with a loud thud, Oliver’s coat falling on top of it. The ultrasound picture, the one she had carefully secured in the center of her refrigerator with an arrow magnet, stares back at her, a window into the world she had allowed herself to dream about. A moment in the not-so-distant future where she walks in to see a flesh-and-bone child playing on her hardwood floors, the echo of her baby's coos and giggles bouncing off the walls of her usually quiet space.

She submits to her grief, her cries are relentless, desperate, frantic at the realization that beyond her front door, the world is still moving at the same frenzied pace, oblivious to her loss. The helplessness is a knife twisted in her side, the ache sharp and impossible to ignore. There is nothing she can do, nothing Oliver can do, to fix this. They've saved the lives of so many people, but there was no way for them to save their child.

The bed is too far. The distance to the couch, manageable. Felicity collapses unto it, curling herself into a ball so small she somehow manages to fit under the fuzzy throw blanket that is usually only big enough to cover her lap on cold winter evenings. 

Eventually, she drifts off into a restless sleep.

The day before her father left, he had taken her to the carnival. It was her first time on the carousel.

She was five.

_“One day, I’ll get you a real pony, but this will have to do for now,” he had said, tightening the straps around her waist, his hand on her cheek as he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead._

He’d won her a tacky purple gorilla from studying the best time to launch a rubber chicken into a big plastic pot. The stuffed toy was tucked safely away in her hallway closet, the only thing she kept from her dad; the first of many toys she had planned to give her baby.

It was one of the best memories of her childhood, and it might have stayed that way if it wasn’t tainted with her crying herself to sleep every night for a month after he left.

She doesn’t think about it much anymore.

Twenty-one years later, it’s a different man’s hand on her cheek. She’d only read about it in novels--the-weak-in-the-knees, butterflies-in-the-stomach, promise-of-forever kiss, until the day Oliver finally closed the distance between them, his lips pressing confidently, passionately, into hers. He told her he loved her, bumbling through his confession in a way that convinced her he meant every word. The day that told her reality could surpass her wildest dreams, her heart already painting memories of what a future with him would look like.

But then he had backtracked on his decision and she had had to pretend she was okay with it. It changed her, to have another man she loved decide she wasn’t worth staying for.

All in one moment, walking away the next.

And she had done it again with the baby, surrendered to the temptation of imagining a future full of smiles and laughter, a blue-eyed baby in Oliver’s arms, finally bringing balance to a life filled with memories of people leaving or dying or disappointing her.

There’s optimism, and then there’s stupidity. Felicity tells herself she’s done with both.

When she wakes the next morning, the cramps are back, milder but somehow no less painful. The doctor had said Ibuprofen would take care of it. She throws open her medicine cabinet, her eyes falling to the pregnancy test that had turned her life upside down two weeks earlier.

How can she feel such a profound sense of loss for a child she just found out she was carrying? A baby she’s never even held? She wishes she knew, doesn’t understand why this hurts so much. Tries to talk herself through the science of fetal development, any reason to get herself to stop crying, but no amount of logic can convince her she didn't lose someone she loved.

She had seen her child, heard the heartbeat, and both no longer exist.

Turning back to the pregnancy test and picking it up, she throws it into the trash without a second thought. Promises herself this is the last time she's getting her heart broken.

Days are spent between her bed and the couch, watching actors laughing on her television screen, wondering when the day will come when she has reason to do that again. She learns that the shower is the perfect place for a good cry, the warm water soothing her tired eyes.

It takes another five days before she bothers checking the messages on her phone.

 _“Hey, Felicity. It’s Sara.”_ There’s a momentary beat of silence. _“I just called to check in...you know how to reach me. For anything. Anytime. Okay?”_

She’ll call her back in a few days, she tells herself, before moving on to the next message.

_“Hi Felicity. It’s Iris. We heard…on the news...I’m really sorry. We both are. Listen, if you want, Barry and I were thinking of coming up to see you. Maybe even bring you back here, if you felt like you needed to get away? You know how to reach us.”_

Sighing, she clicks on the next call, the only unfamiliar number on her phone.

_“Hi, Ms. Smoak. This is Jean Loring, Mr. Queen’s lawyer. Sorry this took so long, I’ve been out of the country. I have the divorce papers ready, and was wondering when would be a good time to meet to get them signed. Give me a call back, 555-9098.”_

Her stomach twists, the weight of betrayal slamming into her, unravelling whatever miniscule amount of progress she had made over the last week. He’d said he loved her, and he doesn’t even wait a week to get the divorce papers drafted, doesn’t waste any time trying to sever the last remaining link to her.

But _of course_ he does. She can't trust anything Oliver had said that night. The only reason they’d even stayed married was because of the baby. She just didn’t expect to have to deal with their divorce so soon.

Maybe part of her had hoped she’d never have to deal with it at all.

She scoffs, blinking back tears and clicking on the next message.

_“Hey, Felicity, it’s Oliver. I know you said--”_

Delete. Delete. Delete. Every voicemail, text, email from him. She doesn’t bother opening a single one.

She’ll get to signing the divorce papers when she’s good and ready.

In the meantime, there’s her bed. She turns off her phone and crawls back into it.

* * *

It’s the sound of approaching footsteps that wakes her, and she might have attempted to reach for her phone and call 911 if she didn’t recognize the shuffle of his feet.

She groans when the door opens.

“Felicity?”

“You need to stop breaking into my house,” Felicity grumbles, pulling a pillow over her eyes.

Oliver shrugs nonchalantly. “Stops the moment you give me a key.”

“No reason to do that now, we’re going to be divorced soon.”

He doesn’t answer, opting instead to pull the pillow off of her head. “Get up.”

“No.”

“Now, Felicity.”

She pulls her covers back over her head to replace the pillow. “Leave me alone.”

“I did. Time’s up.”

“I said no, Oliver. Leave.”

“Not leaving here without you.”

“Stop trying to save me,” she says accusingly, her voice breaking. “I don’t need you to save me.” She lets out a jagged breath, swallowing the sob that wants to escape. She’s too tired to cry, and she is done shedding tears because of him.

She feels the bed move, knows without looking that he’s sitting next to her. His voice drops to a whisper. “I came to you when I needed help, Felicity,” he reminds her.

Oh, you mean when you told me you weren’t going to hurt me, she thinks as the image of him bleeding in the back seat of her car flashes to her memory. Liar.

“You told me once I wasn’t alone,” he continues, the weight of his hand on her back. “Well, neither are you.” He pulls the cover off of her. “Now get up.” His voice is softer in volume, but no less firm in tone.

He’s right. She’s tired of grief, tired of holding on to her anger. The healing has to begin somewhere. Today, it starts with this.

She throws her legs over the side of her bed and looks at him.

He sounds almost cheerful as he pulls her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise,” he says, jerking his head towards the bathroom. “Go shower. I’ll pack you a bag.”

* * *

“You have horrible taste in music,” she says, half an hour into their drive, lifting her head a little to look at him from where she’s resting against the window. She looks so small curled up in the seat like that, her knees drawn up to her chest.

“Everybody likes Bon Jovi,” he says, turning down the volume a little, hoping maybe he can get some conversation out of her by egging her on.

He let her mourn for two weeks, respecting her wishes and giving her space. He’d still come by to check on her house everyday, not bothering to knock after the first day when she’d refused to open the door for him, saying she needed more time. He brought her dinner every night, leaving it on her doorstep.

From the looks of her, she hadn’t ate any of it.

That had been the most shocking thing about seeing her that morning. Her gaunt face, how small she looked in what he recognized as an old sweatshirt of his. He knew he couldn’t leave her alone any longer.

“If I have to listen to music from the eighties’ can I least listen to the good stuff?” she asks.

“What’s the good stuff?”

She thinks for a minute. “Cyndi Lauper.”

“Do girls just want to have fun?” He tries to joke, but she’s leaning her head back against the window, her eyes drifting shut. He turns down the music even further, switching to the top 40 station.

Around noon, he pulls off the highway into a small town to gas up. She wakes to use the bathroom, coming out with two bottles of water for them.

“Hungry?” he asks as she hands him one. She shrugs non-committally, climbing back in the car. He goes through the drive-thru at the local burger joint, ordering her favorite plus a mint chocolate chip milkshake.

He tries not to be obvious, but he watches her eat intently, keeping track of everything. She only eats half the burger and a couple of fries, but she does manage to finish the milkshake to his relief.

“Did you pack my tablet?” she asks after a while. He turns to her, tilting his head so he can look at her over the top of his sunglasses. He thinks he almost gets a smile. “Okay, dumb question. Where is it?”

He reaches behind him, picking up her messenger bag he’d stuff full of her tablet and various magazines he’d found in her living room, dropping it on her lap.

“Who is watching the city?” she asks, pulling the tablet from the bag before placing it in the backseat again.

“Diggle. Sara. With Barry on call for the assist,” he says.

“Who is watching QC?”

“Ray,” he says, but doesn’t tell her he’d received a rather kind email from the man after the news of the miscarriage broke, saying he could take care of QC and that Felicity's leave of absence has no time limit, not to worry. Oliver had sent back a very sincere thank you, thankful Ray hadn’t decided to be petty.

“How long is this going to take?”

“A week, week and half tops,” he explains.

“When are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“When we get there,” he says with a smirk that she doesn’t return.

It’s another couple of hours before he pulls off the highway on to two-lane roads until they reach a sign welcoming them to the small town of Goldfinch.

“The campground your mother bought?” Felicity asks, looking out at the store fronts lining Main street.

“You remember,” he says, surprised. She hadn’t been his EA in over a year, there was no reason for her to know.

“Actually I looked into the campground when she started remodeling it,” Felicity says with a shrug. “I thought she was using it to launder money.”

Oliver grimaces, but doesn’t say anything. Because the truth is, he wouldn’t have put it past his mother.

“The camp's on the other side of the lake,” he says, gesturing with a head nod toward the lake.

Ten minutes and some bumpy dirt roads later, they pull into the campground.

Oliver had seen the pictures the appraiser had taken, but none of them did it justice. A large log cabin stood facing a common area of rich grass, freshly mowed from the looks of it. Surrounding the common area were several small cabins. Oliver could just make out more past where the forest reclaimed the land.

“Looks like something from a movie,” Felicity says next to him. He turns to see her looking down at the water where lounge chairs are strewn out across the beach. He pulls to a stop in front of the big house, noticing a ‘Bed & Breakfast’ sign hanging from the porch.

The fresh air hits him hard the minute his door is open. He takes a deep breath. The smell reminds him of the island.

“You must be Oliver Queen,” a curvy redheaded woman is yelling at him as she pushes open the large front door, making her way down the short stairs. She’s probably in her early forties, Oliver guesses when he notices her stop and do a full body check out on him. Just what he needs. “I’m Nita Fromkin. Your lawyers said to expect you today, Mr. Queen.”

“Please, call me Oliver,” he says, putting on his best ‘Oliver Queen’ smile, reaching out to shake her hand.

“Oliver, then,” Nita says with a giggle, giving him a wink. Oliver looks around for Felicity, needing backup. “You’re so much taller in real life and far more handsome.”

“Thank you,” he says, spotting Felicity making her way around the car with weary eye on Nita. He reaches out, pulling her into his side as he wraps an arm around her shoulder. “This is my wife, Felicity.”

“Nice to meet you,” Felicity says with her own fake smile.

"I thought I heard you were getting a divorce,” Nita says as she’s shaking Felicity’s hand.

“We are.”

“We aren’t,” Oliver corrects her, shooting her a glance but she only shrugs. “We’re trying to work things out.”

He feels Felicity tense beside him, before stepping out from his embrace and moving toward the stairs, asking Nita where the restrooms are. Once she’s gone, Nita turns her full attention back to Oliver.

“I left all the instructions for the bookkeeping, reservations and schedules in the office off the kitchen. Only two of the cabins are rented out right now, but more are booked for later this week,” Nita says, pulling out something from her pocket. “I run the Inn in town. Call if you need further instructions or,” Nita looks over her shoulder where Felicity disappeared, before turning back with a sly smile. “Or if you get bored and want a real woman.”

With that, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and saunters away, swinging her hips far more than is necessary. Oliver shakes his head, bounding up the steps in search of Felicity. He passes through a sitting room, a library and eventually makes it to the back of the house where the kitchen is. Sure enough, Felicity is in the tiny office with a view of more cabins tucked away in the woods.

“Moira put a lot of money into renovating this place,” she says when he walks in. She’s already got the one computer booted up, the program used for accounting up and running. “Every cabin was rewired, remodeled and refurbished two years ago.”

“Her lawyer says she did that so she can sell it,” he says, dropping Nita’s business card on the desk beside her, leaning over her shoulder to see the numbers. “Fifty grand on bathtubs? How is that possible?”

“Nothing but the best I guess,” Felicity says. Noticing the card, she picks it up. “Here for five minutes and you already have a fan club.”

He ignores her. “A hundred grand on beds? That’s insane. How many beds does that buy?”

“Look closer, that’s just for the bed frames. That doesn’t even include mattresses or bedding,” Felicity says. She pauses, still fingering the card. “Please stop telling people I’m your wife.”

“But you are my wife,” he says, standing back so he can look at her. She is looking at the desk, fingers picking at the edges of Nita’s card.

“No,” she says quietly. “I’m not.”

“The state of Nevada would disagree,” he says, trying to take the bite out of his voice but not quite managing it.

“I know you’ve already signed the divorce papers, Oliver,” Felicity says, dropping the card to push away from the desk as she stands. “Your lawyer already called me.”

“I haven’t signed any divorce papers,” he says, stepping in her way when she goes to leave. That makes her stop, looking up at him with an expression he can’t read. “I haven’t spoken to my lawyer since before.” He doesn’t finish the thought, but knows he doesn’t have to. “I have never once said I wanted a divorce.”

“You said--”

“No,” he cuts her off. They are standing so close, but not touching, she isn’t even looking him in the eye anymore, focused on his neck where the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. “From day one, I only ever did what you wanted. You pushed for the annulment. You pushed for the divorce. Never me.”

“Oliver,” she says, finally raising her eyes to look at him.

“I never wanted a way out,” he says, his eyes dropping to her mouth. She breathes in like she might be ready to say something, but instead she shakes her head and moves past him.

He has no choice but to let her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support and encouragement you guys have given us while writing this story. This chapter was one of the most difficult to write. Tears were shed. Alcohol was consumed. We were pretty much the epitome of 'emotional mess.' But the rebuilding begins here. Fun times are on the horizon. We hope you stick around for that!


	6. Chapter 6

Felicity doesn’t let herself replay the conversation she had with Oliver the day before; doesn’t want to dwell on the look of sincerity in his eyes when he told her he didn't want a divorce. He’s done this before, she reminds herself, trying to hold on to her bitterness. He’d convinced her he loved her before walking away. She won't fall for it again.

She had spent her first night in Goldfinch tossing and turning, the foreignness of her surroundings filling her with unease. But she was also grateful to be away from home where there were too many reminders of a life she isn’t meant for. Oliver had taken the room beside hers, and her thoughts kept drifting to him, wondering whether he was still awake, whether he had had any trouble sleeping since the night she lost their baby.

Today, she decides it's time to attempt normalcy. After breakfast, she heads back to her room to change into running shoes, confident some fresh air will do her good.

It’s warmer in Goldfinch than it is in Starling City. The nearby lake is the ideal destination for a run. She bends down to touch her toes, welcoming the stretch she feels in her hamstrings and calves, pushing lower until the tips of her fingers find the top of her gray-and-pink sneakers. Ten seconds, holding the position. She moves her head from side to side, rolling her shoulders while admiring the reflection of the morning sun on the water.

She misses Sara and thinks back to the last time they ran together.

_“How’s it going with Ray?”_

_“They’re...strained,” Felicity admits, walking over to the bench where they had left their water bottles._

_Sara grabs her stainless steel bottle, chugging down a few gulps. “Want to talk about it?” she asks as she wipes her lips with the back of her hand._

_Felicity sighs, taking a drink from her own bottle. “I honestly don’t know where to start. It’s hot and cold with Ray. One minute we’re good, the next it’s like he’s trying to get as far away from me as possible. And I can’t make heads or tails out of why.”_

But that wasn't the truth. Ray pulled away every time he saw her with Oliver.

_“Might be a stupid question but have you tried talking to him about it?”_

_Another sigh, louder this time. “I’m hoping to do that during this weekend’s business trip to Vegas.”_

That had been a bad idea, with Ray confronting her about her feelings.

_“Do you love him?”_

_Her head whips back at the question. "What?” She means to sound more incredulous, but the question comes out soft, anxious, like he's just discovered her biggest secret._

_“Oliver. You don’t think I see the way you two look at each other? The way he looks at me with disgust? You don't think I know exactly what he's thinking?"_

_“That is ridiculous. Ray.”_

_“No, you brought this up. You wanted to know what’s wrong between us? You want to know how to fix it? Let’s start with how you feel about Oliver.”_

_“How I feel about Oliver has nothing to do with us. I'm with you." She tells herself this often, reminds herself she has a boyfriend._

_Ray scoffs, taking a step towards her. “How you feel about Oliver has everything to do with our relationship.”_

_She refuses to take the bait. “This is about you and me. No one else.”_

_Ray dips his chin once in acknowledgment, his voice even and measured. “Okay,” he agrees. “You and me. What if you and me moved to Gotham?” There is a lilt at the end of his question, a spark of hope in his eyes._

_“Gotham?”_

_He reaches for her, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her towards him. “Oliver can handle things in Starling City. The Gotham division is growing, showing some real potential.”_

_“Oliver’s hardly a businessman,” she argues as panic builds in her chest. “He needs you.”_

_She feels his hands go limp, his arms return to his sides, directing an accusatory glare straight at her. “He needs me? Or you need him?”_

_“Ray--.” She reaches for him then. Her heart drops when he takes a step back._

_She reads it in his eyes before his lips ever part._

_“This is over,” he says. The pained look on his face tells her there is no room for argument._

He had turned around and left, saying he’d send for his bags. And she would have run after him. She had certainly considered it, but what was she going to say?

The Arrow needs her. Starling City needs her. She can't move to Gotham. Her reasons have nothing to do with Oliver.

But then she remembers the way he held her in his lap, the whispered confessions in her ear on the drive to the hospital. _“I’m right here. I have you. It’s going to be okay.”_ It was the only part of that memory that didn’t trigger hysterical crying.

She sprints faster, tries to focus on building speed, her muscles recovering from two weeks in bed.

When she gets back to her room, Oliver is sitting by the bay window, waiting.

“If it wouldn’t be too much, do you think you could let me know when you head out?” he asks sheepishly as he digs his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “I’d just feel better if I had a general idea of where you were.” He glances at the window for a second before looking back at her.

A stab of guilt pierces through her at the way his forehead is crumpled in worry. “Yeah, of course,” she agrees, grabbing a nearby towel to wipe the beads of sweat rolling down her neck.

He relaxes, shifting his feet nervously. “I was thinking, maybe we could go into town? Get some lunch?”

The run has left her famished. It’s the first time in a week she’s looked forward to a meal.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Give me a few minutes to get cleaned up."

He beams back at her, his shoulders straightening at her acceptance. “Take your time. I can wait.”

* * *

“We’re lucky we don’t have that many guests yet,” Felicity says as they walk into the crowded restaurant. “Serving breakfast at six a.m. is going to be a pain.”

“Six a.m. isn’t that bad,” he says, holding up two fingers for the hostess.

“Oliver, you do realize that we actually have to make the breakfast? Like muffins and scones from scratch.” She steps in front of him as she follows the hostess to their table. They had run out of the pre-made muffins Nita had left behind that morning. “That means being up at like five or something.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he tells her, pulling out her chair.

“Don’t tell me. You are secretly a great baker?” she says with a deadpan voice.

He smiles back. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

She opens her menu as he takes a seat opposite her. “Somehow I have trouble picturing Moira whipping up a batch of cookies.”

“Raisa, our housekeeper. She taught me.”

“Oh.” Felicity looks up at him. He loves that look. The look she gets when he shares more about his past. It’s cautious but attentive. It makes him want to tell her everything.

He does, spending the rest of the meal telling her stories of Raisa. How she took care of him and Thea, how she taught them important things. He keeps talking, hoping he’s helping, hoping he’s giving her something else to focus on instead of the tragedy that had befallen them.

“That’s why you know how to fold clothes so well?” Felicity asks as she scoops up another spoonful of pie and ice cream.

“Yep,” he says, stealing a bite from her plate, happy she’s talking again.

Afterwards they walk around the town, greeting people with smiles as they pass them. He wants to grab Felicity’s hand, the tiny town making him feel domestic.

“Oh no.” Felicity pulls up short behind him. He turns to see she’s looking at her feet, one of the straps on her leather sandals ripped in two. “My favorite pair.”

“We can get you new ones,” he says, as she places a hand on his arm for balance and removes the shoe. “Look, that place over there is open.” He points to the store across the street.

“Okay,” she says still staring at her shoe.

“Hop on,” Oliver says, turning his back and gesturing with his thumb. He can feel her hesitate behind him before giving in. She places her hand on his shoulders as he crouches, his hands reaching back under her knees to secure her in place when she climbs onto his back.

“Is this what the world looks like from up here?” Felicity says, her breath tickling his ear. He chuckles, glad she’s making jokes again.

“Hello,” the clerk greets them as they enter the store, overpriced summer clothes lining the walls and filling the racks. Too late, Oliver realizes the clerk is already in a conversation with Nita.

“Oliver,” she calls fondly, as if they had known each other longer than a day. She turns back to the clerk. “This is Oliver Queen, Becky. He owns the campground now.”

Felicity is nudging at him to let her down, but he only tightens his grip on her legs. He really likes the pressure of her legs wrapped around him. “Nice to meet you, Oliver.”

“And I’m his wife, Felicity,” Felicity says when neither of the women acknowledge her.

Fuck, he thought it was hot when he called her his wife. Her saying it is a whole other level, especially with the weight of her breasts rubbing against his back.

“Can you direct me towards your shoes?” Oliver asks to avoid getting further distracted. Becky is helpful, pulling out shoes from the back when Felicity requests them. It only takes fifteen minutes before she’s satisfied, deciding to buy two pairs.

“Oliver,” she says, when they make it back to the register and he hands over his debit card. “You don’t have to. I can buy them.”

“Nope,” he insists. “My treat.”

“Let him, darling,” Nita says, leaning against the counter next to them, giving him a very clear view of her ample breasts. “Isn’t that what husbands are supposed to do?”

“He’s not--”

“Yes,” Oliver talks over her, tired of her denying them, especially after she’d just called herself his wife not fifteen minutes ago. “That’s exactly what husbands do.”

Except he doesn’t really know what husbands do. His own father and mother had not been the best examples. In the romantic comedies Thea was fond of making him watch, husbands were loving, attentive. They didn’t keep secret mistresses or cheat with business partners.

How can he even think about trying to convince her to stay in this marriage when he isn’t even sure what a healthy one looks like?

“Thank you,” she says when they are back in the car, pulling him from his depressing thought spiral.

He wants to kiss her, his eyes dropping to the bright pink lipstick he hadn’t noticed she’d put on. That stops him short, because he knows it wouldn’t be welcome. She hadn’t put on lipstick since the miscarriage. It’s all the reminder he needs.

She is still in recovery, still coming back to him.

When they get back to the campground, an unfamiliar car sits in front of the B & B. He looks over at Felicity in question, but she just shakes her head. The books hadn’t mentioned anyone checking in that day.

“It’s about time,” yells the last voice Oliver expects to hear as he exits the car.

“Thea?” He asks as the girl in question comes bounding down the front stairs, throwing herself at him. He wraps his arms around her, happiness filling him to have her back safe.

“Where were you guys? We got here over an hour ago.” Thea says, pulling back, gesturing with a thumb over her shoulder to where Roy is sitting on the top step looking bored. He gives Oliver a head nod hello.

“We went into town to get lunch. When did you get back? Last I talked you were on your way to Singapore.” He’d sent her an email letting her know he’d be out of Starling for a week, never expecting it would draw her back.

“We missed home,” Thea says with a shrug, not fooling him at all. “Plus I couldn’t wait to start bonding with my new sister.”

Thea steps around him, pulling a bewildered Felicity into a hug.

“Hi, Thea,” Felicity says, awkwardly patting Thea on the back. Ever since Oliver had brought Thea onto the team, she had made a pointed effort to get to know Felicity and Diggle, throwing herself into the team atmosphere. But he is pretty sure this is the first time they’ve ever hugged.

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” Thea says, keeping an arm around Felicity’s shoulder as she ushers her up the stairs toward the house, leaving the men to follow.

“Didn’t Oliver tell you? We’re getting a divorce,” Felicity says, glancing over her shoulder at Oliver in accusation.

“Sure you are,” Thea says with a laugh. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Oliver suppresses a groan, turning to Roy. “How long are you two planning on staying?"

Roy grins back with undeniable glee. “‘Til she tells me we can leave.”

Then he does let out a groan because he knows Thea is on a mission. A mission that is most likely going to make his life hell.

* * *

In a moment of weakness, she had introduced herself as his wife.

Felicity groans at the memory, rubbing her hands over her face. When did she lose control over what came out of her mouth?

Oh, yeah. The day she met Oliver.

She hears the squeak of the bed first, followed by the headboard banging against the wall. For beds that are worth more than what she earns in a year, you think they’d be sturdier, Felicity considers, before she cringes at the sound of Thea, shrieking and moaning, calling Roy’s name in the distance.

The bedroom door beside hers opens, and she recognizes the cadence of Oliver’s steps in the hallway.

“Oh no, you don’t!” she whispers, bouncing up and running out of her room. His head whips back when he hears her door swing open.

“Oliver…” she trails off warningly, stopping in front of him.

His jaw twitches. She recognizes the gleam of anger in his eye. “I need to talk to Roy,” he says.

She folds her arms and tilts her head at him. “It can wait ‘til morning.”

“Nope.” He shakes his head pointedly, stepping to the side to get around her. “It really can’t, Felicity.”

She echoes his movements, moving in front of him again, her palms landing flat on his chest, trying not to think about the last time her fingers explored this part of his body. It doesn’t help that he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Yes, it can,” she repeats, matching the firmness of his tone.

His shoulders slump slightly, the creases on his forehead disappearing as he relaxes under her touch. She tips her head towards her door. “Come on, it’s not as loud in my room.”

He sees through her lies immediately, throwing her an exasperated look.

“Okay, fine, it’s just as loud,” she admits. “But I have my tablet. We’ll listen to some music, drown them out.” She swings a fist up, attempting enthusiasm, a small smile playing on her lip. “Strength in numbers?”

He sighs but relents.

Oliver slides down to the floor and leans his large frame against her bed, looking more than a little awkward. She hates what they’ve become, moments of ease from earlier that night interspersed with moments like these that remind her they’re still broken, acknowledging to herself for the first time since Vegas that she really wants them to heal.

She decides then to stop overthinking things and points to the bed. “It’s plenty big enough for the both of us,” she tells him, scooting over to the other end and patting the space beside her. “Your mom didn’t make the ridiculous investment on these beds so her son could sleep on the floor.”

He doesn’t argue, standing and moving tentatively into the open space beside her, one eye shrinking in disgust when he hears Thea yelp, her cries for Roy getting louder.

Felicity doesn’t hide her amusement at his reaction. “They’re adults, Oliver. They may be acting more like mating monkeys right now, but they are adults.” She wrinkles her nose, and adds, “Well, Thea more than Roy.“

His lips curve up subtly at her joke.

She grabs her tablet, squinting as the screen lights up, swiping the glass surface until she sees the music player icon. She doesn’t have her glasses on, and by the time she figures out she’s clicked on the wrong audio file, it’s too late.

Their baby’s heartbeat resonates in the silence, the soundtrack to her grief.

Her breath hitches in her throat, the tightness in her chest unmistakable at the reminder of the tiny heart that’s no longer pumping. She barely notices Oliver take the tablet from her hands to press the stop button, finding the song she meant to click on. The sound of Adele’s voice replaces the quiet in the room.

His arms come around her and he pulls her head towards his chest, moving down so they are both lying on the bed. She is too tired to deny herself what she needs so she lets him hold her, lets herself feel comfort under the weight of his arms.

It’s the most reassuring sound she’s heard since she lost the baby, the rhythm of his heartbeat under her ear, his pulse strong and steady.

He clears his throat. His thumb rubs circles on her arm.

"I bet she had your eyes,” he says softly.

A single tear rolls down her cheek. She sniffles. 

"She?” she asks. “They can’t tell gender until 18 weeks, Oliver.”

He shrugs. “I know. But I was hoping for a girl. A mini you. Your eyes. Your brain. Your sense of humor. In hindsight, didn’t really matter," he shakes his head, "so long as we had a healthy baby.”

Words fail her. She can hear cracks of sorrow in his voice, but she doesn’t know how to comfort him. She didn’t know, until now, that he needed her to. For the first time, she realizes it isn’t just her loss.

His tone shifts, lighter this time, and she knows he’s smiling about the child they both dreamed about. “I love the name Mia,” he confesses. “That’s what I would have wanted to call her.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” she says, looking up at him.

He holds her gaze for a few seconds, before pressing a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Felicity,” he murmurs. “For everything.”

So is she. But she can’t get the words out of her mouth. Instead, she places her hand on top of his heart and doesn’t pull away when he interlocks his fingers with hers. She doesn’t tell him that the burden of her loss is a little lighter, now that she knows he wanted their baby as much as she did.

She falls asleep to the sound of his heart beating, his arms still wrapped tightly around her.

* * *

Her first thought the next morning is that she loves waking up next to him.

She rubs her eyes, opening them to the sight of Oliver looking affectionately at her. A slow smile spreads on his face. It should be a crime how good he looks first thing in the morning.

His fingers reach over to sweep a lock of her hair from her face. “G’morning,” he mumbles.

“G’morning,” she replies, smiling back.

“Sleep well?”

She nods. “I now completely understand why these beds are so expensive.”

But she’s lying. The first good night’s sleep she’s had in nearly three months, since their fight in Vegas, has nothing to do with the beds and everything to do with him.

They take turns in the bathroom. He uses the in-house shaving kit, while she brushes her teeth with the toothbrush he packed for her. She sneaks glances at him through the mirror, trying to ignore the way his sweatpants traveled lower down his hips overnight, trying not to think about about how much she wants to start every morning off this way.

“We should probably find another cabin,” he says, stretching his neck to one side as he runs a razor over his skin.

“Oh yes please,” she responds immediately. “As secluded as possible...I mean, not for us...I just...I really don’t need to hear how your sister and Roy spend their nights.”

He laughs, rinsing the razor, his eyes meeting hers through the mirror. “Secluded would be good,” he agrees.

She chooses a flowered sundress for the day, with a fitted bodice and a skirt that flares at her hips and stops a few inches above her knees, not missing the way Oliver’s mouth parts appreciatively when she emerges from the bathroom. It feels good to be wearing color. Heck, it feels good to be out of her pajamas, if she’s being honest.

Roy and Thea are strolling down the hallway, their hands entwined, when Oliver and Felicity emerge from the room.

“Good morning,” Thea chirps cheerfully, displaying a grin so giddy, Felicity thinks for the first time how much she resembles Oliver. “I thought this was your room, Ollie,” she teases, waving a finger lazily towards the adjacent door.

He tenses. “Our neighbors were--” Felicity automatically reaches over and runs her hand down his arm in an effort to calm him. It works, the bite in his tone dissipating almost immediately. “Noisy,” he manages to say matter-of-factly with a civil smile. “And Felicity has better taste in music than I do.”

“Not a Fall Out Boy fan?” Thea laughs when Felicity shakes her head in exaggerated fashion. “So what’s the plan?” she asks Oliver.

“Why don’t you come with me, help me out with breakfast,” he says, taking Thea’s arm, directing an irritated glare at his protege, “while Roy can go make sure the grounds are clean.”

Roy shrugs, unperturbed. “Works for me,” he says, reaching over to kiss Thea on the cheek.

“I’ll go with you,” Felicity says to Roy. “I’m not much good in the kitchen,” she explains to Oliver. She doesn’t wait for a reply, nudging Roy and walking briskly down the hallway towards the lobby. She can feel Oliver’s eyes tracking her, but she doesn’t turn back, well aware that sometime after he pulled her to his chest last night, her brain conveniently forgot all the reasons being with him was a bad idea.

“So…I take it from his tone he didn’t get any last night,” Roy says, glancing sideways at Felicity.

She wrinkles her nose at him in disgust. “I think his tone had more to do with what you were getting than what he _wasn’t_ ,” she says pointedly with a purse of her lips.

Roy pulls open the door, holding it open for her to walk through.

“You know you could help me out with that.” He raises his eyebrows at her before following her out. “You could keep him busy while I keep Thea busy,” he says with a sneer.

Felicity groans, moving towards the rustic gardening shed. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” she says as she holds a rake out to him. “Did you order the new bow I asked you to?” she asks, hopeful that she can change the subject.

He clears his throat. “I just got back,” he whines.

She glares back. “There’s no internet coverage in Singapore?”

“There is, but there was also a _very_ naked Thea Queen in Singapore,” he points out, his hands gripping the rake as he begins collecting the blanket of pine needles that scatters the lawn. “And you would know why that kept me busy if you would just let _your_ Queen get naked,” he says with a wink.

“Oliver is not my Qu--” she pauses, shifting her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Can we please talk about anything else?”

“We could, but I really like this conversation."

“I don’t.”

“I know. That’s what makes it so appealing.”

She rubs a hand over her forehead. “How about not talking? And just getting this done.”

“Aw,” he says, placing a palm on his chest, a mock frown on his lips. “Now you’re just hurting my feelings.”

“We’re getting a divorce, Roy,” she says somberly.

“All the more reason to take advantage of the best perk of marriage while you’re still married.”

“Sex is not the best perk of marriage,” she argues. “There’s got to be more to it than that.” She isn’t sure what, exactly, but staying married should probably not hinge on a vow made after too many shots of tequila or on the drunk, angry sex that followed.

“Felicity,” Roy says, leaning his elbow on the rake. “If you don’t think sex is the best perk of marriage, you’re not having the right kind of sex.”

“We should hurry and help Oliver and Thea with breakfast,” is all she manages to say in response.

* * *

“How do you remember this?” Thea asks, hoisting herself up on the counter next to him as he carefully measures out the correct amount of flour.

He shrugs. “I think you sitting on the counter violates health codes,” he says.

She shrugs back at him, reaching out to grab a blueberry from the pile he plans to put in his scones. “You don’t think it’s weird mom never actually put this place on the market? It’s been remodeled for over a year and half. You know why? Because she never planned to sell.”

“Thea,” he says, pausing to look up at her. “I think we would both be happier if we stopped trying to understand our parents.”

“Preaching to the choir,” Thea says, sliding off the counter as Felicity pushes through the door with Roy trailing behind her.

“Does he come with a muzzle?” Felicity asks, nodding toward Roy.

“You know you love me,” Roy says, throwing an arm around Thea, pulling her into his side. No matter how painful the sounds he overheard last night are, he’s glad Thea has found someone who loves her so unconditionally.

“What can we do?” Thea asks. He is kind of surprised she’s even up this early, but is glad for the company. “We can help.”

“Put out the plates and coffee?” Oliver asks, watching Felicity disappear into the office. Roy and Thea get to work as he puts the batch of scones in the oven, starting to clean up the mess he’s made.

“Found one,” Felicity says, coming out holding up a key in her hand. “Far enough from the main house and unwelcome sounds.”

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll move our stuff when breakfast is over.”

He doesn’t ask whether or not she’s coming with him. He's not giving her an option. For a brief moment yesterday she’d referred to herself as his wife. That plus last night’s conversation and waking up with her snuggled to his side this morning, he had made up his mind.

Fight. He is going to fight for them, for their marriage, for a life where they are actually happy. He just has to figure out the best way to convince her to fight alongside with him.

The breakfast goes off without a hitch, the few guests they have making small talk as Thea and Felicity serve, Oliver and Roy making sure everyone has coffee or juice. By the time it’s over, Thea agrees to take care of all the guests checking in that day.

“Roy can be the bellhop,” she volunteers. Roy nods along amiably instead of protesting like Oliver thought he would. The word 'whipped' runs through his mind, making him smile.

While Felicity goes for a quick run, Oliver grabs their bags and follows the directions she had given him to the cabin. It’s hidden back away from the lake, the last cabin on the grounds. It has a tiny kitchen, living room, covered porch complete with a swing and, most importantly, only one bed.

Oliver grins as he sets their bags down in the bedroom, eyeing the bed. It’s a little small. They'll have to get cozy.

“Oh,” he hears Felicity’s voice behind him. She’s standing in the door, her face flushed, wearing a tank top and sinfully tight running shorts. “This must be the wrong cabin. It was supposed to have two rooms.”

“Too late now,” Oliver says walking past her. “All the other cabins are booked.” Or at least they would look that way, even if he had to doctor the books a little. “Let’s go for a swim.”

“I didn’t bring my bathing suit,” she responds predictably.

“Sure you did,” he says, pointing at her bag. He wants to keep her active, distracted. Whatever it takes to help her through this. “Side pocket.”

“Oliver,” she groans when she pulls out the flimsy material. “Where did you even find this?”

“In your drawer,” he says. It had been in the same drawer as some very colorful bras and silk underwear that he hadn’t had the time to really appreciate. “Get dressed.”

“I can’t wear this,” she says. “It’s indecent.”

“Then why did you buy it? ”

“We all make stupid mistakes on spring break, Oliver.”

He laughs. “Come on, no one is even here yet. Who’s going to see? Don’t you want to cool off after your run?”

She purses her lips, eyeing the black material in her hands, finally nodding.

Ten minutes later, they are standing side-by-side at the edge of the dock that jets out into the lake from the shore. Oliver pulls his shirt off his body, likes the way Felicity’s eyes follow his reveal of skin.

Grinning, he gestures toward the towel she has wrapped tightly around her body, loving being able to openly flirt with her. “You keep forgetting I’ve seen you naked.”

Huffing, never one to back down from a challenge, Felicity drops the towel next to his shirt. She wasn’t kidding about the indecent part, Oliver thinks as he gets a good look. The entire suit is held together by very thin strings, the sides of her breasts exposed due to lack of fabric.

“Stop,” she says but there is a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she folds her arms over her chest, which only makes them look better. He makes a point of starting at her toes, his eyes slowly moving upward until they reach her eyes watching his movement.

Smiling, he grabs her around the waist, hurling them both into the water.

“Cold. cold. cold,” she sputters when she resurfaces. “So cold.”

“It’s not that bad,” he says, circling around her to splash her in the face.

“Oliver!”

“What?” He asks innocently, splashing her again. Then tiny, adorable Felicity Smoak tackles him, trying to push him under the water. He lets her, because she’s giggling, the sound something he hadn’t heard in far too long. He wraps his arms around her body as he comes back up for air, using his strength to launch her forward, immediately regretting it because now there is too much space between them.

She pushes her hair out of her face when she comes back up, smiling warmly at him as the laughter dies.

“I’ve missed you,” she says in a sincere tone, throwing him off completely.

“I’ve been right here the whole time,” he replies, the sudden weight of all they’d been through over the last couple of months rushing back to him. He swims closer, the distance between them suddenly too much.

“Oliver,” she says, her mouth twisting up in obvious discomfort. “What I said in Vegas, that night, the next morning. I’m sorry.”

“Felicity--”

“No, let me get this out,” she says, holding up a hand to stop him. “What happened between Ray and me had nothing to do with you. Well,” she amends, “it did, but it was my problem. Not yours. Putting the blame on you wasn’t fair. In fact it was pretty terrible of me. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he says, sliding his hand down her arm until he can link their hands. “There isn’t anything to forgive. I should have been better at not letting either of you see how it affected me.”

“No--”

“No. No more apologies,” he cuts her off. Because if they started on this loop of apologizing to each other, it would never end. “We both said things we didn’t mean. We need to move past it. And on to this,” he says his hands grip her around the waist as he raises her, throwing her again. He just wants her to laugh again, doesn’t want to think about the implications of that night.

She comes up smiling, then just as quickly the smile falls from her lips and she’s looking horrified.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, swimming toward her, cursing himself if he hurt her in any way.

“Stop,” she says before he can get closer, one of her arms wraps around her chest as the other extends to stop him from getting closer.

“Felicity?”

_“Ilostmytop.”_

“You what?” he asks, her words too jumbled and quick to make out.

“I lost my top,” she says, closing her eyes in embarrassment as she gets the words out.

He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face even though he knows he should be a little more understanding.

“Oh, really?” he says, his slow drawl causing her to open her eyes. She drops her gaze to his mouth for a half a second, before she tries to swim one handed to the shore. He falls in beside her, flipping to his back and swimming backwards so he can watch her face. “Need some help?”

“No,” she says, as she makes it to the dock. Only she does, because the dock is too high, her towel and his shirt just out of reach. The only way she could get them is if she used both hands, giving Oliver the view of his lifetime. She realizes her dilemma a second later, sighing to look at him.

“What’s the magic word?” He asks, not sure why he wants to tease her so badly.

“Oliver,” she says with a smirk. He pulls himself onto the edge of the dock, grabbing his shirt, handing it down to her. She turns her back on him to put it on, showing him her beautifully naked back as she lifts her hands over her head to get the shirt on.

Once secure, she pulls herself up beside him, getting to her feet. The shirt is wet, plastered to her body and he’s suddenly very glad he’d decided to go with the white shirt this morning because it’s giving him a pretty perfect view of her hard nipples.

He stares, licking his lips. He's through trying to hide how much he wants her, wants her to know exactly how he feels about her. Catching his movement, she looks down to see what he sees.

“Seriously, Oliver,” she grunts, covering herself with her hands, stomping off in the direction of their cabin leaving him alone on the dock.

He lets her go this time, but he isn’t about to let go of the fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...please tell us nobody cried during this chapter. Unless it was tears of joy. Or, even better, laughter!
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting and supporting us through this fic! We hope you all continue to stick around.


	7. Chapter 7

"I really don't want to do this," Felicity says as she scrunches her face in an attempt to dislodge the blindfold Oliver had placed over her eyes.

She can hear the smile in his voice when he answers. "You don't even know what _this_ is."

They’ve been at the camp for almost two weeks. The search for someone to run the place hit one dead end after another. Every day, Oliver invites her to do something different--hiking one day, mountain biking the next, always espousing the “value of the great outdoors.” She had tried declining at the beginning, but he was determined.

_“I need the distraction,” he admits the day he invites her to go rollerblading._

He doesn’t have to tell her from what, or where his mind goes when it’s idle. She already knows; she’s been trying to crawl out of the same pit herself for the last month.

The ground slopes down underneath her feet. She grips him tighter, her fingers digging lightly into his wrist seeking balance. He reads her hesitation immediately and wraps one arm around her waist to guide her carefully over the uneven terrain.

"I've got you," he assures her.

The breeze picks up, the scent of pine and moss in the air. Her ears prickle at the sound of water gushing in the distance.

"It can't be good if you have to blindfold me," she points out dryly.

"Maybe I just wanted to surprise you."

"You wanted to make sure I wouldn't run." Her statement is met with silence, telling her she's right. "I knew it! I knew it!" she stops and holds a finger up. "You are so predictable, Oliver. Take me back. Now. I'm done walking."

Instead, he pulls the blindfold off of her eyes, her eyes adjusting to the light before meeting his blue orbs. "No more walking. We're here," he says with a grin.

She looks over his shoulder at the bright, yellow kayak that sits on the riverbank, a pair of luminous orange life jackets and sleek black helmets resting next to it. Beside the carbon fiber hull, the water is placid, moving leisurely downstream. Immediately, her mind starts transforming the serene landscape before her into a turbulent, raging river, exploring all the worst-case scenarios that has them both ending up in body bags.

"Surprise," he says throwing his hands up in the air. "We're going kayaking."

Felicity glares at him. "You mean _you're_ going kayaking."

Oliver is unfazed, his grin confident as ever. She wants to tell him his charming 'Oliver Queen' smile hasn't worked on her for almost three years, but she can already feel her resolve fading, the way he's looking at her tearing down the walls she'd been resolutely building since the morning she woke up married to him.

"Yep. I am." He shrugs an eyebrow up before pointing to her. "With you."

She folds her arms. "Nope. Forget it, Oliver. I’ve gone swimming, hiking, mountain biking, indoor rock climbing...this is a line I’m simply not willing to cross.”

"Come on," he says cheerfully, looking over his shoulder at her as he makes his way towards the water. He picks up one of the helmets and walks back. "It'll be fun."

"Famous last words."

He smirks. "Felicity, you have nothing to worry about. Look at the water. It's perfectly calm."

"It doesn't look calm to me."

He points to himself. "Shipwrecked, remember? Survived a sinking yacht?" She looks up at him, surprised at the lightness in his tone when talking about his past. "Believe me, that--" he pauses to jerk a finger behind him, "is as calm as water gets."

"Oliver--" she starts. The arguments are forming in her head and she's about to tell him every single reason why this is a bad idea. He cuts her off before she can get to the first point.

"I will be with you the entire time.” He brings the helmet down slowly over her head, still staring into her eyes. "And I'll make sure you're safe."

She swallows. "What if it turns over?"

"It won't. It's very secure."

"What if we get caught in a storm?

He tilts his head and grins, trying not to laugh. "In the summer? I checked the weather today. Clear skies and sunshine's in the cards for us." He walks over to grab a life vest and holds it out to her.

She takes it, even though she still isn't sure she wants to do this. "What if--"

"Felicity," he says. She has never known anyone to say her name as tenderly as he does. His hands come up to cradle her face. "If you're going to trust anyone," he says as his thumbs lightly brush against her cheeks, "let it be me."

She trusted him the moment he walked into her office, even after all his lies. She can't get herself to stop trusting him. It's a problem, she tells herself, as she straps on the life vest. A problem she absolutely has to deal with.

Eventually.

Right now, Oliver is standing by the kayak with his protective gear and holding out a hand to her, grinning like an idiot. The arguments in her head are gone; the doubt replaced with calm. She doesn’t need all the answers to the future when he’s around.

She places her fingers in his palm as she climbs into the kayak, taking a paddle from him as he double checks her gear. With a single push, he manages to propel the sleek outrigger off the banks and into the water. The kayak wobbles slightly when he climbs into the seat behind her.

The wind brushes her hair out of her face, the sensation cool and refreshing on her skin. She inhales deeply, wanting to fill herself with the peace that resonates in the surrounding vista. "Am I doing this right?" she asks Oliver over her shoulder, putting the oar into the water and pushing back.

"You're doing great," he says. "Rest if you get tired. I can keep us going."

The speed at which they are moving tells her he doesn't actually need the help, but she likes the way her muscles burn as she paddles, so she keeps doing it, stopping only to admire the view.

"It's beautiful," she croons as the mountains come into focus.

"It is," Oliver agrees behind her.

"This isn't terrible," she admits, grateful he can't see how big her grin is even if she's pretty sure he can hear it in her voice.

"Well don't sound too enthusiastic now, you don't want me to think you're having fun.”

"I'm having fun," she confesses unabashedly with a laugh. It feels good to have a reason to laugh again.

It feels even better that her reason is him.

She loses track of time. Their conversation turns to stories of their childhood, talk of books they've read and movies they love, easy and light the way things have always been with Oliver. He maneuvers the river like a local, ultimately leading them back to the lake around which she goes on her morning runs. She thinks about how much she doesn’t want this to be over when he paddles towards the shore, jumping out to pull the kayak back unto land. Felicity climbs out after him, pulling off her life vest and helmet and placing it beside his.

Oliver walks around, stopping in front of her, still grinning. She suddenly thinks about kissing him but pushes the thought out of her mind because she knows there's no need to rush things. Whatever this is that's going on between them, it's good. She doesn't want to ruin it.

"I told you you could trust me," he says, automatically reaching to take her hand.

She weaves her fingers into his and nods slowly, letting him lead her back towards their cabin.

"Yeah," she says with a smile. "You did."

* * *

 

Opening his eyes, the pleasant sounds of birds chirping greeting him, Oliver smiles. A quick glance at the clock tells him he has five minutes until Felicity’s alarm clock goes off. And he knows just how to spend them.

Turning over onto his side, he gazes at a sleeping Felicity, his new favorite pastime.

Two weeks. Two weeks of waking up with her by his side. Two weeks of spending all his free time with her. Two perfect weeks.

He knows he should be working harder at finding a buyer or at least someone who can run it for the rest of the summer. But as Thea had put it when she'd vetoed the last applicant, they were all “too weird." He hadn’t had any luck with selling it either, his realtor stating that the market was down.

In the meantime, the four of them ran things, falling into an easy pattern. To his surprise Roy and Thea have taken to the place the best, helping guests check-in and out. Always making sure to help wherever they can. Felicity helps too, making sure the books are kept updated and the whole place runs smoothly.

Most of the summer long rentals had checked in, the beach now almost always full of screaming children. Several of the elderly couples get together in the evening to play cribbage or poker. They’d banned Felicity from poker night after her first and only time, citing she was just too damn good. Felicity had winked at him over their heads.

It’s been a month since the miscarriage, a month since their world crashed and burned.

Every day is an improvement. She goes on daily runs, stands beside him every morning to help make the scones, muffins or whatever else they decide to put out, picking up on it remarkably quickly. She has even agreed to his daily distraction technique, whether hiking, swimming or whatever else he can come up with. She is smiling more. Whether at Thea making fun of him or Roy making fun of him, he doesn’t care so long as she keeps doing it.

He’s excited to get her back to Starling, to start rebuilding their life in their home. He’s been leaving not-so-subtle hints that he wants her to move in with him or vice-versa, all of which she’d ignored. But the more he thinks about their life in Starling, the more he knows they can only make it work if they’re working at it together.

She’d been adamant the first night that he sleep in the bed with her and not on the tiny little couch, reminding him of his bum knee and bad back. He didn’t need much convincing, he just wanted to make sure she was okay with it.

She shifts in her sleep, letting out a small moan. He wants to cover her mouth with his until she makes the sound again, only louder.

But he doesn’t. She’s not ready yet. He knows that. But fuck, sleeping in the same bed with her the last couple of weeks is its own delicious kind of torture.

Sometimes he wakes to find she’s reached out to him the night, her hand resting on his arm or chest. Other mornings he wakes up curled around her, hoping she can’t feel his erection.

Sighing, he rolls out of bed before the temptation proves too much, ready to begin another day.

* * *

 

“You know what Thea likes?” Roy asks, leaning on the kitchen counter as Felicity pulls another carton of eggs from the refrigerator. They were out of coffee, so Oliver had run to the store to buy some while Felicity had offered to get started on making scrambled eggs, the “one breakfast food I happen to be spectacularly talented at making,” she had bragged (“Oh, wait, two! I can also toast bread really well! Like to golden brown perfection.”).

Felicity doesn’t answer, hitting the first egg on the rim of the bowl and cracking it open.

“She likes it when I suck right--” he pulls his shirt down, pointing to his clavicle. “Here.”

She ignores him. “Can you hand me the whisk?” Over the last few days, she had learned that silence got him to stop much sooner than actively begging him to stop.

He hands her the whisk, leaning on the counter as he watches her. “So is that, you know, a hot spot for you?”

She cracks the second egg into the bowl. “How many guests do we have this morning? I was thinking maybe a dozen eggs should be enough, right?”

He shrugs, continuing. “Thea was saying girls have pretty universal erogenous zones, and she was suggesting it might be time for me to talk to Oliver. Give him some pointers.”

She cringes at the thought, her lips curling up as she imagines Oliver’s reaction. She wipes her hands slowly on her apron. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I know my way around a woman’s body,” he says, shrugging an eyebrow up.

“So does Oliver,” she retorts as flashbacks of their night together dance into her head. She pushes them away, trying to focus on the task at hand, cracking another egg into the bowl.

Roy picks up an apple, wiping it on his hoodie. “Well, clearly he isn’t, given that you sleep with him every night only you’re not _sleeping with him_ ,” he says, emphasizing the last three words with a knowing nod. “If he was any good, once wouldn’t be enough.”

“Roy!” Felicity snaps, turning to open the refrigerator to get more eggs. “That has nothing to do...I mean, it’s not...that’s not,” she rambles, annoyed at herself for being baited into the conversation.

“I’m just trying to help,” Roy interrupts, clearly amused by her reaction. “I won’t even tell him you asked. It’ll be like you and I never had this conversation.”

“I _didn’t_ ask, and we _aren’t_ having this conversation.”

“Exactly,” he says. He takes a bite out of his apple, chewing as he talks. “Don’t worry, Felicity. I’m going to make sure Oliver gives you the best sex of your life.”

She shakes her head, infuriated, picking up the second carton of eggs. “Oliver has given me the best sex of my life, and he doesn’t need any pointers!” she yells, slamming the refrigerator door and flipping around.

Freezing when she meets Oliver’s eyes.

“Hi,” he says, a smug smirk on his face as he sets a brown paper bag down on the counter.

Roy snickers, taking another bite out of his apple. “I’m going to go find Thea,” he says, leaving them alone.

“That was...I just...I--I don’t, don’t want you to take that out of context,” she stutters, scratching her temple and looking around the kitchen for an excuse to get out of there.

His gaze is paralyzing. And sexy. Really, really sexy.

“Which context am I supposed to take it?” he asks, a grin covering half his face. “I mean, what exactly did you mean by the. best. sex. of. your. life?” He punctuates each word by tapping a finger on the counter, his eyes still glued to hers.

She scoffs. “I just needed him to shut up,” she tells him, her voice higher than usual. “It’s not like I meant it,” she adds with a small laugh.

_Stay cool, Felicity._

She had meant it. And she wasn’t a better liar than he was.

“It’s all Roy talks about ever since he got here. Like the only thing worth talking about is our sex life. I mean, not that we have a sex life.” She takes a deep breath and fixates on the brown paper bag. “I just needed to shut him up,” she repeats with a shrug.

“Oh,” Oliver says, unconvinced, taking a step towards her. He’d been flirting with her more, and lately, she hadn’t managed to convince herself not to enjoy it. “So on a scale of one to ten, how would you rank me?”

“Oliver--”

“No, I want to know. I mean, we should be honest with each other, right?”

“I don’t know,” she says, furrowing her eyebrows. The number eleven comes to mind, but she isn’t about to tell him that, his cocky grin inspiring her answer. “Six?”

“Six?” he asks, horrified. _“Six?”_

She tries not to smile. “Six and a half?”

“Look, if you need me to refresh your memory--” he hums seductively, taking another step towards her. Her throat goes dry, heartbeat pounding in anticipation. “I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

Get a grip, she commands herself, forcing out a laugh.

"Nah, I’m good,” she says, pushing the bowl of raw eggs towards him. “You should probably finish up here. I’m going to go set the table.”

She doesn’t need her memory refreshed. She needs it wiped, she thinks, as she tries to forget the details of sleeping with Oliver Queen.

Yeah, not like _that_ was going to be happening anytime soon.

* * *

 

“I thought you called to make sure the bread order was ready?” Felicity asks with a frown, staring at the sign on the bakery’s front door which reads _“Out for lunch, back at 1.”_

“Did I?” Thea says, placing a finger on her lips, her eyes flicking towards the sky. “I’m pretty sure I said no one picked up the phone.”

“You’re as bad a liar as your brother,” Felicity mutters dryly as she looks helplessly around the charming town, trying to find a reason to go off on her own. This is bad. This is really, really bad, she tells herself.

She doesn’t want to get attached to Thea too.

“Please,” Thea scoffs with a flip of her hair. “No one is as bad a liar as Oliver. He once tried to convince me ice cream is good for you.”

Felicity laughs, her heart light as she imagines Oliver trying to deal with his little sister. She wants to ask questions, hear more about what it must have been like growing up with him, but she’s terrified of the answers, certain that the more she knows, the more impossible it will be to walk away from him. To end their marriage.

She isn’t sure she has it in her to do it now.

The last two weeks had been a welcome relief from the constant, haunting grief of her miscarriage. Being around Oliver should have been difficult. She realizes this. But when she’s sitting with her elbows on the kitchen counter, surfing on her tablet while Oliver navigates the space in a white apron covered in flour, she forgets to think about all the ways life has disappointed her. Forgets to worry about the future, so wrapped up in how perfect the present is, just being in the same room with him.

“Okay, fine. Oliver is worse. But you aren’t much better. Must run in the family,” she says, her attention drawn to a young mother across the street pushing a baby in a stroller. Her breath catches in her throat, and she urges herself to look away, but she can’t stop tracking the stroller, her eyes moist as the child comes into focus.

“Hey,” Thea says softly, jerking her out of her thoughts. “Why don’t we go this way? See what else there is to do in this little town?”

She nods, letting Thea link their arms together, tugging her gently down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

“I’m sorry about the baby, Felicity.”

“It happens,” she says automatically, not willing to spit out platitudes like _‘thank you_ ’ or _‘it’s okay’_. She shrugs, tries to convince herself it isn’t something that happened because those are the kinds of cards life deals her. “Apparently.”

To Felicity’s relief, Thea opts to change the subject. “I love it here.”

She looks around the quaint town. “I do, too.”

She means it. She loves the quiet in Goldfinch, the slow pace that allows Oliver and her to head to their cabin early in the evenings, spending the last few hours of the night sprawled on the bed they’ve been sharing for nearly two weeks, talking about the guests that had checked in or checked out that day, or whatever crazy thing Roy or Thea did or said. Anything and everything. She likes to lie on her tummy, a pillow scrunched up under her chin. Oliver always lays on his side, one elbow leaning on the bed, the other hand reaching to play with a lock of her hair. She often finds herself wondering if he’s going to kiss her. Wonders if she wants him to. Wonders if she’s ready.

“My mom bought the camp shortly before Ollie came back. At first she had planned to renovate and sell...you know, flip it,” Thea continues, her eyes dropping to the cobblestone path. “Everyone was telling her what a good investment it was, but then we got the news about Ollie, that he was alive, that he was coming home, and she...she changed her mind. She said the only investment she was interested in was her family. And that this place was the first step in that direction. After Walter left, she threw herself into renovating it. Said we needed to slow down, savor the good things in life.” She pauses, turning to Felicity. “I don’t want Oliver to sell it.”

Felicity looks back to the street, not sure why Thea is telling her this. “You should tell him that.”

“I will, but I thought...I thought you could talk to him too. He listens to you. I mean, you’re his wife.”

Only on paper, she almost says, but lately, there have been far too many moments when she forgets this isn’t a real relationship; moments when she considers they might actually have a chance at making this work.

“Thea,” Felicity says with a sharp inhale, meeting her eyes. “It’s not my call.” She thinks of how much she has seen Oliver smile since they arrived, knows immediately she agrees with his sister. “You know Oliver. Once he has his mind set to something, he’s not easy to convince otherwise...”

“No, he isn’t,” Thea agrees. “But you’ll figure something out. Come on, Felicity. You know he needs this. Oliver wouldn’t know what was good for him if it bit him in the ass. You’re smarter than he is.” She drops her shoulders in exasperation. “Isn’t that part of your job now? To look out for him?”

She’s always looked out for him. And she always will, with or without the marriage.

“It’s not my place to say anything. This is a family decision.”

“You _are_ family.” Thea's hands fly up in frustration. “You were family before you married him.”

 _Family._ She really loves the sound of that, loves the sincerity in her tone. So much for not getting attached to Thea.

“This is a conversation you should have with Oliver," she says. She releases the statement with as much conviction as she can manage, which isn’t much given that she really, really doesn’t want Oliver to sell the camp.

“Fine,” Thea says with a pout. “But promise me you’ll think about it?”

Felicity smiles, nodding slowly. “Yes, that I can do.”

That part is easy. She can’t stop thinking about it if she tried.

* * *

“Thea don’t start with me,” he groans, waving goodbye at the realtor again. She hadn’t let up since he’d announced this morning that the realtor would be by in the afternoon to take more pictures.

“This is stupid, Ollie,” she says, dogging his steps as he walks back into the B & B.

“It’s too much work,” he tells her. “Plus, we have to get back to Starling. We can’t leave Dig and Sara alone to protect the whole city. It’s already been over two weeks and that is two weeks too many.”

“What about ARGUS running it? Lyla is running a tight ship,” she suggests.

“Thea,” he says stopping to look at her. “Power changes hands quickly in ARGUS. We can’t trust she'll always be in charge. Remember the last time they were in charge? They almost blew it up!”

“Ollie,” she pleads. “You can’t sell this place.”

“I don’t have any other option,” he says coming into the kitchen. He can see Felicity and Roy on the other side of window above the sink, filling the tires of the new bikes they had bought in town yesterday. “This could never last forever.”

“Why not?” Thea asks.

“Thea--”

“No, Ollie,” she insistent. “Why can’t it? You can’t protect Starling forever. Eventually you’ll have to retire. Start a life.”

His eyes are glued to the image outside the window. Roy is laughing, Felicity rolling her eyes as she gives him a little push to move him out of her way.

“I know you don’t want the divorce,” Thea says quietly. “Why aren’t you fighting harder for her?”

“I am,” he says, glancing down at her before admitting. “I just don’t know how to convince her.”

“Maybe Roy has a point,” Thea says. “You both need to get laid.”

“Thea,” he groans. “We are not talking about my sex life.”

"Ugh, not you too,” Felicity says as she pushes open the back screen door, Roy following her. “Can we all agree to stop talking about each other’s sex life?”

“What sex life?” Roy asks with a smirk. “You don’t have one.”

Oliver levels him with a glare as Felicity says, “You don’t know that.”

“Oh I don’t?” Roy asks with a classic raise of his eyebrow. “You’re telling me you two finally got over your hang ups and are bangin’?”

“Yes, yeah,” Felicity says, stuttering, the lie comically obvious to everyone in the room.

“Sure ya are,” Roy says echoing Thea’s words from the first day when they arrived, grabbing Thea’s hand and pulling her from the room. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“The more you react the more he’s going to keep it up,” Oliver says when he’s sure they are out of earshot.

“I know,” she grumbles. “But I can’t help it. He’s so smug. Yesterday he asked me to look at something on his neck. Covered in hickies. You know what he said to me? Do you?” Oliver shakes his head. “He says ‘oh yeah, I forgot she put those there.’ Jerk.”

“I can fix that,” he says, letting his voice drop an octave.

“Fix what?” she asks, her eyes going wide as he walks slowly toward her.

“The lack of hickies on your neck,” he says, continuing to walk forward until he has her pinned against the refrigerator. “I can fix it,” he leans in to whisper against the shell of her ear. His hands find her waist, pressing her into the cool of the stainless steel fridge.

“Oliver,” she says, her hands bracing themselves on his chest as he softly runs his lips along her jawline. She smells like sunshine.

He hears a sound coming down the hallway and makes an executive decision, one of his hands leaving her waist to cup her neck, angling her head up with his thumb.

“This will shut him up,” he whispers. Then he’s closing the distance, feels Felicity’s hand bunch up his shirt before relaxing as she hums with the contact, her arms moving up to circle his shoulders as she deepens the kiss.

He knew kissing her was addictive, but he’d forgotten just how much as she sucks lightly on his tongue. Her finger scratches at the hairs on the nape of his neck, causing his skin to prickle at the sensation.

“It’s about fucking time,” Roy’s voice comes from behind them as Thea lets out an ‘eww.’ Oliver ignores them, his hands moving to hoist Felicity’s legs around his hips.

“That’s our cue,” Roy says, then he hears the backdoor slam shut.

“Oliver,” Felicity says, as he thrusts slightly, kissing down her neck. “They’re gone. You’ve proven your point.”

“What point?” he asks, his mind blank as he focuses on where his thumbs are under the hem of her shorts, wondering if there is way he can cut them off, maybe even tear them. The fabric feels flimsy enough.

Anything to not break contact.

“Oliver,” she says with force, drawing his head back with her hand in his hair. “You can put me down now.”

“What if I don’t want to put you down?” he asks. He knows she can feel him half hard between them. Knows she knows exactly how this is affecting him. He also knows she isn’t unaffected, her face flushed.

“This is probably a bad idea,” she whispers. “We’re still getting a divorce.”

“Are we?” Oliver asks, because he can’t help himself. But before she can respond he’s kissing her again, not giving her time to think about it.

He’s not sure how they make it back to their cabin, Felicity pointing out that sex to avoid talking about their issues is really unhealthy.

“When have we ever been healthy?” he asks, dragging her into their room, pulling her shirt off, unclasping her bra with a small twist. “I fight crime wearing a mask and an antiquated weapon.”

She snorts at that, her hands moving to push his shirt up instead of responding, while his hands move to push her shorts and underwear down her body. His shirt gets tangled in his arms around his head, bent over as he is trying to get her naked. She giggles, trying to unfree him.

“It’s not funny,” he smirks when he finally gets the shirt untangled, throwing it across the room.

“It’s a little funny,” she says, looking adorable as she raises her hand to show her thumb and finger an inch apart, naked as the day she was born.

“You know what’s not little,” he says in his most suggestive voice, pushing her back toward the bed with one hand, while his other unzips his jeans, finally freeing his cock from his boxers.

“Oh, that I remember,” she says with a quirk of her eyebrow that almost has him coming.

_Fuck._

He leans in, capturing her mouth with his because he needs to feel her, needs to find a way to make her see what she does to him.

“Condom,” she says as she falls to the bed before he can move to cover her.

“Right,” he says, moving to his bag, even though a small portion of him is disappointed. He sees the logic in it, knows it’s a good decision. But of course, she wouldn’t want to risk getting pregnant again. Of course, she wouldn’t want to risk being tied to him forever. Of _fucking_ course.

“Oliver,” she calls when he takes too long. He’s back by her side, ripping the wrapper open and handing the condom to her. She sits up a little, in order to roll it down, all thought of the implication of the condom flying from his head. Fuck her hands feel good.

She lays back on the bed, her hair fanned around her as she looks up at him expectantly. She’s so fucking beautiful, the light from the mid-afternoon sun filtering through their curtains making her hair take on a slight glow.

This is how it should have been between them the first time, he thinks as he enters her slowly, giving her time to adjust. This slow, unhurried pace, filled with quiet moans and groans of each other’s name.

Only pleasure, no pain, no anger. Just pleasure.

He wants to take his time, explore her body in way he hadn’t in Vegas. Wants to marvel at how perfectly they fit together.

But then she comes, her back arching off the bed, her fingers digging into his shoulders and he’s a goner, the look on her face undoing him with the pleasure there as she milks him internally.

“Felicity,” he stutters, giving her a sloppy kiss as he comes, having to pull away, his mouth falling to her shoulder as he tries to stop the sounds coming from his throat.

“I’ve got you,” she whispers into his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve got you.”

He closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around her body, holding her to him.

He’s got her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We promised fun times! And sexy times! Hope we delivered!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with us everyone!


	8. Chapter 8

“I was thinking maybe I’ll go for a run today,” Oliver says, leaning against the door frame of their bedroom as Felicity ties her shoe laces.

She pulls the laces tight, looks up at him with a smile. “That sounds like a great idea.”

He steps into the room.  “I was thinking I’d run with you,” he repeats, his tone tentative. He shifts his feet in a way that tells her he’s nervous, like he expects her to say no to spending more time with him. Which is ridiculous. They'd been sleeping together for a week now, and she had been making it _very_ clear just how much she enjoys being with him. With and without clothes.

“I would love that,” she says, enunciating each word.

He grins. She swears there’s a skip in his step when he heads for the front door and holds it open for her.

It’s a ten-minute walk down to the lake. Felicity insists on stretching underneath the shade of the large, oak tree a few feet away from the dock where he had thrown her off on their second day in Goldfinch.

“Thank you,” she says when they round the corner. The water of the lake glistens in the distance.

Oliver’s forehead creases. His head tilts. “For what?” he asks.

She looks sideways at him. “For coming for me. Bringing me here,” she gestures with her hand, “for the pep talk. Which I needed.”

 _For being stronger than me. For believing I could do this._ Her mouth has stopped talking, but her mind won’t stop enumerating all the ways Oliver has changed her life for the better since the moment she met him.

“I will always come for you,” he says, so casually she isn’t sure how she is supposed to take that. “And having gotten a lot of pep talks over the last few years, I like to think I’ve become kind of an expert on them.”

She grins. “You did very well.”

His eyes are earnest, his voice quiet. “I had the best inspiration.”

“We should warm up,” she tells him, needing a reprieve from the intensity of his gaze.

She heads towards the tree, bending over, her fingertips reaching for her feet. Her head twists to look up at him when she realizes he isn’t moving. He stares at her, the corners of his mouth curled up.

“You’re not warming up,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

His eyes sweep slowly over her.

“I’m feeling plenty warm,” he drawls suggestively with a smirk.

“Oliver--” she reprimands with a huff. “Stop imagining me naked!”

“There are times I think you have unrealistic expectations of me.” He turns his head sideways to peek at her cleavage. “This is one of them.”

He continues to stare appreciatively down at her, making her feel like she’s the most beautiful woman on the planet.

Not wanting to feed his ego, she glares at him, unsuccessfully feigning annoyance, before breaking out into a run around the lake. Oliver follows, falling beside her immediately. She wonders if she’s holding him back, knows without a doubt that he can run faster, but he doesn’t seem to mind keeping the same pace as her. She loves it, loves to see that he’s capable of slowing down.

A layer of goosebumps appear on her skin as the wind picks up, disappearing a few minutes later when her body generates the heat necessary to eliminate them. Days are getting colder, the colors around them changing; the first tells of fall.  Specks of brown and orange are now sprinkled everywhere, cluing them in to how much time has passed since they first arrived at the camp.

She wonders how much longer before their life in Starling calls them back.

They run six laps around the path, the equivalent of three miles, before Felicity slows down to a walk. She heads for the dock, sitting on the edge and dangling her feet over the water. Oliver drops down beside her, so close she resists the urge to lean into him.

Instead, she folds her legs up to her chest, leans her chin on her knees.

“Thea doesn’t want you to sell the camp,” she says, facing him.

“I know,” he acknowledges with a sharp nod. “Thea tends to lead with her heart.”

So does she, she thinks to herself. But sitting here with him now, she thinks maybe that’s not always a bad thing. Maybe there are exceptions.

Maybe they are the exception.

“Just because you don’t agree with her doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a point,” Felicity points out. “I think you should hear her out.”

He rubs his forehead with the back of his hand, arches both eyebrows at her. “Really, you’re taking her side?”

She cocks her head, nods thoughtfully. “About this? Yeah. I guess I am.”

“So this is what it’s like having you against me,” he pauses, pursing his lips and bobbing his head from side-to-side, “I don’t like it.”

“Oliver,” she says, her eyes shining with affection. “Just because I don’t agree with you doesn’t mean I don’t…” she bites her tongue before she can say _'love you.'_ Even though she _does_. She knows exactly how she feels about him, but saying it is like diving head first into the deep end; you’ve got to swim whether or not you’re ready for everything that comes next. “Care about you.” She releases the words slowly, the weight of everything she isn’t saying hanging in the air between them. Her gaze falls back to the water.

From the corner of her eye, she can see he’s smiling at her. Like he knows she didn’t say exactly what was on her mind. She’s blushing now, but he doesn’t call her on it, simply saying, “I’ll take what I get," before standing up and holding a hand out to her.

He doesn’t let go, his fingers locked with hers the entire way back to their cabin.

“I’m going to jump in the shower,” she tells him when they walk in the front door, already pulling up her tank top. The sweat has made the fabric cling to her skin uncomfortably. She’s eager to wash it off.

He nods thoughtfully, pulling his shoes off and setting them beside hers.

She makes her way into the bathroom to turn on the water, releasing her ponytail and combing her fingers through her hair. Workout clothes get thrown into the hamper nearby. She slides the glass door open, steps into the soothing, warm spray of water, immediately grabbing the shampoo bottle and squeezing a generous amount unto her palm to massage into her scalp.

It’s while tipping her head back to wash out the lather, her eyes still squeezed shut, that she hears the shower door open again, feels the lightest vibration beside her as he steps into the stall.

“Oliv--” she starts to say, but before she can get his name out, his lips are already on hers, his tongue seeking entry into her mouth, one hand grasping her neck, the other wasting no time teasing her center.

He's been doing this a lot, surprising her. Making it impossible to forget why they aren't the perfect fit, especially when he knows her body so well. He finds other uses for the tiled shelf that holds the shampoo bottle, and neither of them notice that the bottle breaks when it hits the floor, both too focused on each other.

She tries not to think about how the bathroom has excellent acoustics and she sounds like she’s the lead in a porn movie. He has excellent stamina, she thinks as she squeezes her eyes shut and leans her head against the wall, blaming the steam from the shower for her blurry vision.

“You sounded awfully enthusiastic for a six,” he says smugly once they’ve finished, pulling back to look at her. “That sounded like a ten to me.”

“The way sound bounces in here is doing wonders for your ego,” she explains in a wry tone refusing to acknowledge the strength of his performance.

He leans down to kiss her again, his large hands grabbing her waist to hoist her back down to the ground. They spend a few minutes washing each other, Oliver turning her around gently to trail kisses down her neck while he scrubs the skin on her back.

“I like it here,” she whispers when he hugs her from behind as the water washes over them.

She feels Oliver’s head move up and down over her shoulder, his breath warm on her neck. “I like anywhere that means I get to be with you,” he says in response.

  
She doesn't tell him she feels the same way.

 

* * *

 

Oliver practically skips to the B & B, leaving a satisfied Felicity behind in their cabin to finish getting ready. He grins broadly at a passing guest, wonders if it’s evident on his face that he just got laid.

He doesn’t really care. If he thought Felicity wouldn’t mind, he’d get it tattooed on his forehead: _I’m fucking Felicity Smoak_. He laughs, but doesn’t let the idea of a tattoo drop.

Maybe it was time he had a permanent mark on his body that is a good memory.

“You two are disgusting,” Roy says when he enters the house, confirming that yes, it is clear he just had sex. He smiles back at Roy, sliding past him into the office to return his realtor’s call and see if any of the recent applicants who replied to the ad to run the place could work.

Thea and Roy had offered to take over for the rest of the summer, Thea going on and on about how much she loves it here.  She had been trying to convince him not to sell, not understanding he didn’t really have a choice. Over the last week and half, he hadn’t put up much of a fight with her, too crazy happy being with Felicity to bother.

And God, is he busy with Felicity. He is having more sex than he ever had as a teenager, taking her any chance she gives. He can’t get enough, never wants to get enough. He smiles as he remembers sex in the woods, sex in the evenings, sex in the mornings, sex in the B&B when it was empty of guests one night, sex on this very desk Oliver is sitting at.

He smiles fondly at the memory, remembers Felicity chastising him for not being gentle enough when pushing the keyboard out of the way. But that was before she forgot what she was angry about, too distracted by him sucking on her clit.

Life can’t get any better than this and he can’t wait to get her home again so they can start their future.

At three o’clock, a rousing round of car horns draws Oliver out of the B & B, watching as familiar cars come driving up. He purses his lips, thinks maybe Team Arrow is planning missions behind his back.

“Well this is unexpected,” Oliver says when Diggle climbs out of his car.

“You can’t have all the fun without us,” Diggle says with a smirk. “Barry says he has things covered, gave us a couple of days off.”

He remembers there are two cabins checking in today.

“You’re the Smith party?” Oliver asks as Diggle reaches into the back seat to undo the car seats straps.

“Yep,” Diggle says, handing Molly to him before moving to the trunk to get their bags. Oliver coos at the tiny infant, tucking her safely into the crook of his arms.

“This place is very pleasant,” Nyssa says, coming to stand next to him. “But not easy to fortify.”

“I think you’re safe,” Sara says, walking by them with her own bag, dropping a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek, waving hello to Oliver.

“Hi,” Felicity shouts. Oliver turns to see her run down the stairs, throwing her arms around Sara. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Thea emailed us all,” Sara says. “Told us she’d booked us cabins and we needed to be here by the end of the week.”

“I wonder why she didn’t mention it,” she says, meeting Oliver’s eye as she pulls Nyssa in for a stiff-looking hug. Oliver shrugs back, even though he has a pretty good idea why Thea hadn’t said anything.

“Here,” Lyla says, kissing Oliver on the cheek ‘hello,’ then handing Oliver a bottle. “Feed her for me.”

“Of course,” he says, his attention returning to the baby in his arms, who gladly takes the bottle. She looks so small and delicate against the muscles in his arms.

“Hi, baby girl,” Felicity sings softly as she comes up, placing a hand on the baby’s head as she leans in to kiss her forehead gently. “She’s getting so big.”

“That’s the thing about babies,” Diggle says, coming up to throw an arm around Felicity. “They keep growing.”

“Hi, John” Felicity says, pulling him into a hug.

“How are you?” Diggle asks Felicity when she pulls away, looking at her in a way Oliver knows means he’s asking for the in-depth version.

“Better,” Felicity says, smiling, her eyes meeting Oliver’s. “Lots better.”

“Uh huh,” Diggle says, his eyes darting between the two of them before his eyes fall on the hickey Oliver had left on her neck that morning (or last night, he can’t remember). Felicity blushes when she realizes what he sees, her mouth falling open. “I can see that,” Diggle says with an eyebrow tick at Oliver.

“Hey, where should we put our bags?” Sara yells from the porch before either of them can respond. Taking the out, he gladly goes to help Sara, leaving Felicity to deal with Diggle on her own.

  

* * *

 

Oliver had insisted on taking Molly for the afternoon, giving Diggle and Lyla a much-deserved break.

She’d seen this picture in her mind’s eye before: Oliver lying on their bed, knees drawn up, a baby perched on his stomach. Molly’s tiny fists are curled around his thumbs.

In her dream, the baby is theirs.

The coils of grief stir deep inside at the reminder of the child they’ve lost, but the pain has ebbed. She’s almost scared to acknowledge it, a different kind of guilt settling in at the realization that her heart heals as instinctively as her body. That she’s moving on. They both are.

“Ready, set, go!” Oliver says, pulling his hands up, laughing when Molly grips tighter, pitching forward until she’s sitting up. His grin widens when she breaks out into a giggling fit. He brings his arms down again, resting her back on his thighs, eyes shining as she coos happily.

Felicity lies sideways, her elbow digging into the bed.

Since that night in the hospital, she’d uncovered so many more layers to their relationship. For the first time since the disaster that was their first date, she thinks there is more to their future than pain and loss.

“You’re really good with her,” she tells him, watching him pick Molly up, bringing her down to his mouth to blow raspberries on her tummy.

“Oliver? Felicity?” Diggle’s voice calls out.

“I’ll go,” Felicity says, waving her hand towards the bed. Oliver nods, nuzzling Molly’s neck and laughing at her reaction.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” she asks when she opens the front door. “Taking advantage of Oliver on baby duty?”

Dig chuckles. “Lyla is sleeping,” he says. “I was feeling restless…” He dips his chin down, raises his eyebrows at her. “I was hoping you could show me around.”

“Oliver knows the grounds much better than I do,” she says, jerking her thumb towards their bedroom. “Let me go get--”

Dig cuts her off. “I don’t need a full tour. Just need to move.”

She knows then “need to move” is code for “need to talk.”

“Yeah, sure,” she nods, moving to put her sneakers on. “Oliver, Dig and I are taking a walk,” she calls towards the room, one arm sliding into the lightweight cardigan she keeps by the front door. “You and Molly going to be okay?”

She can hear the smile in his answer. “We’re going to be great!”

Pulling the door close behind her, she turns them towards the direction of the lake. “What’s going on, Dig?”

He presses his lips together in a way that tells her he’s choosing his words carefully.

“Whatever it is, I can handle it,” she assures him, pulling the sweater tighter around herself in an attempt to brace herself. She isn’t actually sure she can handle it. She isn’t sure she’s ready to acknowledge the reality of the world beyond Goldfinch just yet.

He turns to face her. “The news leaked.”

“The divorce,” she says, understanding immediately. She pushes her hands deep into her jeans’ back pockets.

Diggle nods. “The press is having a field day. And with neither one of you there to release a statement, the rumors are...” he trails off, measuring his words, “very creative.” Shrugging a shoulder and sighing, he adds,  “One of the most popular theories is that the baby wasn’t Oliver’s.”

The google alert on Oliver’s name has been there since the day she joined his team, but with all the news focused on the miscarriage lately, she couldn’t bring herself to click on any of the articles. She was there. She remembers exactly what happened. She doesn’t need E! Entertainment to remind her.

She presses her lips together, tries not to think about what’s being said about her. “It’s fine, Dig,” she says after a few seconds. “It is. So they know Oliver’s filing for divorce,” she says with a shrug. She knows it isn’t true, but it hurts to even say it. “I asked for it, so it’s fine. I can handle it.”

“I just thought you should know, Felicity,” he says apologetically. “Didn’t think it would be fair for you to get back to Starling without being prepared for the things that are being said.”

“Yeah...no, I’m grateful,” she says, trying to smile for him. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Dig nods. “You know Oliver doesn’t want one.”

“I know,” she says quietly, turning back towards the path.

“And you?” he asks, falling into step with her.

She sighs. “I don’t know, John.”

“You said things were better.”

“They are,” she agrees, pointing to the left to let him know where they are heading. She sees the lake up ahead. “But I don’t know if we can really do this. I mean, things are great here, but back in Starling?”

She chooses the most elevated point of the field for them to continue the conversation, wanting to admire the view. Crossing her legs and sitting down, she starts picking on the blades of grass. “Remember what happened the first time we tried to be together? And we were sober then!”

Dig sinks down beside her, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Look, I’ve known you two from the beginning. I’ve seen you both struggle with whatever it is between you,” Diggle says. “I’ve also seen you two save the city countless times, save Oliver’s company. You’re a pretty formidable team when you put your mind to it.”

“Our mind wasn’t exactly in it when we got ourselves into this,” she points out. “We were pretty wasted.”

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I asked Lyla out?” he asks, propping his elbows on his knees. “I had to get three beers in me. Spent two hours watching her throwing darts, hustling a group of guys hitting on her.”

Felicity nudges him playfully with her elbow. “Three, huh?”

Dig chuckles. “I was so nervous, Felicity. But I’d been watching her for two months, just...just trying to work up the nerve, y’know? And I couldn’t do it. Three beers later, I marched up to her and told her she was going out with me.”

Felicity raises both eyebrows up at him. The corners of her lips quirk up. “Told her?”

“I said, ‘Lyla Michaels, I’m picking you up for dinner tomorrow. Be ready at seven.’” He smiles in nostalgia. “And she was. The rest is history.”

Felicity laughs, thinking of Molly leaning against Oliver’s knees back in their cabin. “What a great history it is,” she agrees.

“There’s a reason it’s called liquid courage,” he says as he turns to meet her eyes “Sometimes you need a push to get things rolling, but keeping things rolling? That’s up to you.”

Felicity nods again, before turning back towards the water in silence.

 

* * *

 

That night they end up crowded in the cabin Thea assigned to Diggle and Lyla. Thea insisting everyone get together for dinner and games.

“You hate board games,” Oliver points out as they set out plates and the pizza that had just been delivered.

“No, I don’t,” she says, but he knows it's a lie. He has a very distinct memory of her throwing dice at his head. “Think of it as team building,”  she says with a wink, grabbing a piece of pizza before moving to sit beside Roy on the floor, leaving Oliver to wonder what she has planned.

“You sure we won’t wake her?” Sara asks when Lyla comes out from the bedroom, closing the door tightly behind her.

“She once slept through gunfire,” Diggle replies. Lyla nods in agreement.

“We can be as loud as we want,” Lyla finishes Diggle’s thoughts, sitting on his lap. Oliver ignores the shot of jealousy as Dig leans in to kiss her cheek.  He glances over at Felicity sitting next to him on the floor, happily eating pizza. He wonders what she would do if he tried to kiss her cheek in front of everyone.

“Good,” Thea says. “Because tonight we’re going to play Taboo.”

“How does one play at taboo?” Nyssa asks seriously.

“It’s a game,” Thea explains. “The name of the game is Taboo.”

“I see,” Nyssa says with a regal head nod. “How does one play this game?”

“First, we divide up into teams,” Thea says, looking around the room, pretending to count, as if she doesn’t already know the head count. “Since we have even numbers, let’s do four teams of two.”

“I call you,” Lyla says to Diggle, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“That’s a great idea, Lyla,” Thea says in too high a voice, letting Oliver know she planned the whole thing. “Why don’t we just couple up?”

Oliver’s eyes narrow at Thea as the rest of the room agrees with her. He wonders who else is in on her scheming. She ignores him, explaining the rules.

“You have one minute to get your partner to guess as many words possible, but you can’t say any of the other words on the card.” Thea holds up one of the cards, making sure Nyssa sees it.

“I think we should be glad your sister is on the good side,” Felicity whispers next to him. “If she turned evil, the world wouldn’t stand a chance.”

He can’t help but agree.

Thea gets everything set up, making sure everyone understands the rules while Sara pours wine.

Oliver declines the glass she offers him.

“No?” she asks, nodding in understanding when he shakes his head.

He turns to see Felicity looking at him, sipping her own glass of wine, expecting her to ask why he isn't drinking. Instead she smiles at him before turning her attention back to Thea.

“Roy and I will go first,” Thea says, standing up. “Ready?”

Felicity sets the timer on her phone, point blank refusing to use the “outdated” hourglass in the box. Her hand comes down, signaling for Thea to start.

Thea nods, grabbing a card, “Okay, Oliver has tons of these. So many...” she drawls, her hand gesturing for Roy to start guessing.

“Ex-Girlfriends!”

“Hey!” Oliver says, annoyed Sara, Diggle and Felicity are laughing.

“Arrows! Enemies...uh...temper tantrums?” Roy says, screwing up his face as he eyes Oliver. “Motorcycle accidents!”

Thea glares at him. “One word, Roy!”

“Money?”

Thea throws down the card, muttering pass. She picks up the next card, “This is an easy one, H2O when it’s solid.”

“Oh that’s easy. Ice.”

“Close! But think something that could kill.”

“An ice pick?” Roy asks in total confidence.

“No, Roy,” Thea says. “It’s not--”

“Just skip,” Roy says, defeat in his tone.

Thea rolls her eye but obliges, pulling another card from the deck.

“Oh, this is easy. It’s where Molly sleeps.”

“Bassinet!”

“In her house, Roy,” Thea says with a stomp of her foot.

“Crib! Sofa! Bed! Uh...floor?”

“Floor?!” Thea scoffs. “She’s a baby!”

“Taboo!” calls Sara, her hand flying up in the air.

“Nursery, Roy, the word was ‘nursery’,” Thea sighs as Felicity’s timer goes off signaling the end of their round.

“We shall go next,” Nyssa says, rising gracefully to accept the offered box of cards from Thea. She waits till Felicity nods before picking up a card. “An outdated mode of communication from the 90’s.”

“Beeper,” Sara says, not missing a beat.

“Our first night in Bali, we listened to the...” Nyssa says, reading the card.

“Thunder,” Sara says, clapping her hands together.

When their minute is up, they have five cards stacked up.

Diggle and Lyla go next, managing to get three cards.

“I’ll go first?” Oliver asks Felicity when it’s their turn. She nods, smiling. Standing, he takes the box of cards from Lyla.

“Go,” Sara says, relieving Felicity of her time-keeping duties.

Felicity crosses her legs and leans her elbows on her knees, pitching forward and staring up attentively at Oliver.

“Your mom gave you one when you were sixteen,” he says, looking down at the first card.

“Telescope.”

“You like to drive...”

“Barefoot.”

The next card he pulls reads ‘pregnant.’ He shoves it to the back of the box without looking up. He grabs another card, looking down at her.

“You’re most disappointed you never got to see the blank show filmed in real life.”

“Oprah,” she says, a full smile on her face.

“Your favorite historical figure you think deserved a retrial?"

Without missing a beat, she yells, “Joan of Arc!”

“You took one of these for Sara last year.”

“Bullet,” Felicity says excitedly, pumping a fist in the air.

“I told you my blank was in a bad neighborhood.”

She tilts her head at him just like she did the first time they met. “Coffee shop.”

“You’re not my employee, you’re my--”

Felicity grins, beaming at him with pride. “Partner,” she says with a laugh.

“Time is up,” Sara says, chuckling. Oliver looks around the room. Lyla has wide eyes, staring at Oliver, Diggle smirking next to her. Nyssa has her head tilted slightly, while Roy is grinning like an idiot.

But Thea, she looks like the proverbial cat that caught the canary, her arms crossed in satisfaction. He ignores her, sitting back down next to Felicity.

She nudges her shoulder against his, prompting him to turn to her. “How did you remember about Oprah?”

“I remember everything you tell me,” he says nonchalantly. She holds his gaze for a second before turning her attention back to the game. He can’t help but drape an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him smiling when she relaxes and leans back on his chest.

They go another round. Sara and Nyssa only miss two cards. Roy and Thea finally get one right, while Diggle and Lyla stay consistent at three.

“Ready?” Felicity asks him as she gets into position to take her turn.

“Born that way,” he replies, throwing her a leering grin.

“You fell off one when you were ten. Your first broken bone.”

“Trampoline.”

“I have a picture of you wearing one of these on the wallpaper of my phone.”

“Sombrero.”

“You refuse to let me read yours to you anymore.”

“Horoscope,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“You use a syringe when you run out of--”

He laughs. “Sports bottles.”

“You sure know how to talk to yourself out of a--”

The corners of his lips tick up. “Victory, but I don’t do that anymore!” he says, pointing a finger at her. Because he doesn’t. Not since the day he decided he wanted to be with her.

“Okay, this is cheating!” Roy grumbles, exasperated, sighing when Thea pulls him back down and throws him a pointed look.

Felicity smirks when she pulls the next card, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.  “What happens in blank stays in blank.”

“Russia,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, wishing he could live that down.

“They are rather good,” Nyssa says, considering the two of them with open curiosity

Her eyes go wide when she sees the next card, her eyes dropping to meet his. “We made a huge mistake during our last trip here.”

Oliver narrows his eyes in confusion. “We already got Russia…” he trails off, feeling stumped for the first time since his turn started.

Felicity shakes her head. “No, Oliver, more recent than that.”

He looks at her, trying to read her expression, no words coming to mind. What mistake? What is she talking about? The last trip they went on was Vegas…

“Time!” Sara says, as Felicity sinks back to the floor beside Oliver.

“What was it?” he whispers, his arm automatically wrapping around her again.

“Las Vegas,” she says with a sigh. “I should have said ‘where I grew up.’”

His heart falls as her words hit home. Mistake. She still thought of their marriage as a mistake. He can’t think of anything to say, turning to watch Thea and Roy in their latest disastrous round.

Mistake. The last word he would ever use to describe what happened.

An hour later, Diggle says it’s time for everyone to go to bed, asking what the final score is.

“So the score is….Roy and Thea, three,” Felicity says with a laugh, counting the cards.

Sara fluffs her hair out, directing a questioning glance at Thea. “Didn’t you just spend a whole month travelling? To get to know each other better? What did you guys even talk about?” she asks incredulously.

“Stuff,” Thea says with a shrug.

“We didn’t do a lot of talking,” Roy says, chuckling when Thea tells him to shut up.

“John and Lyla got fourteen,” Felicity continues before Oliver can respond. “Nyssa and Sara ended at eighteen.”

“We are very good at this game,” Nyssa interrupts.

“Which leaves Oliver and I, coming in at twenty-three,” she turns to him laughing, raising her hand for him to high five. He does, with a smile. “We win.”

“Still think you cheated,” Roy mutters.

“And I still think it’s time for bed,” Diggle says, standing, ushering them to leave with a wave of his hands. “Good night everyone.”

As a group, they walk back to their respective cabins, waving goodbye as they reach their destinations until Oliver and Felicity are left alone. Oliver throws his arm around Felicity’s shoulder as he waves ‘good night’ to Sara and Nyssa.

“I really love this place,” Felicity says a moment later, her arm coming up to weave her hand into his, their interlocked fingers dangling over her shoulder. It’s the first time she’s actively reached for him. His heart speeds up at the feel of her head tilting back as she looks up at the canopy of everwoods, the moon and stars shining through.

“Me too,” he says, his eyes never leaving her face. He suddenly remembers he has a video of their wedding ceremony sent to him by some anonymous good samaritan. Looking at Felicity now, he wonders if he is ready to finally watch the whole thing. Wonders if she is too.

“Hey,” he says, pulling gently on where their hands are entangled to stop her from walking.

“Yes?” She turns her head back to look at him, waiting for him to continue.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he says quietly. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life,” he shakes his head slowly, taking a step towards her. “You will never be one of them.”

She doesn’t answer, instead placing her hands on his cheeks, standing on the tips of her toes to reach his lips. He parts his mouth slightly, letting her tongue run along his lower lip in a tender kiss.

“Let’s go home,” she says when she pulls back.

He nods, taking her hand and leading her into the cabin they’ve shared for almost a month, pulling her into his arms. He slows them down to intensify the kiss, slowly peeling the clothes off her body as she does the same to him.

“Felicity,” he says, gripping her face with both hands, her eyelids fluttering from his lips back up to his eyes. “I love you.”

He watches as a flash of understanding crosses Felicity’s faces, before she’s moving towards the bed again, pulling him on top of her, guiding her into him. Her eyes don’t leave his as he enters her, his thrusts deep and slow, as steady as her heartbeat that first night in Vegas. He kisses her slowly, gently, repeatedly, every brush of his lips communicating what he doesn’t have the words to say. An apology for how much he has unintentionally hurt her, a confession of his unconditional love, a promise of a future where he always chooses her.

She grips him tighter when she comes, trying to suppress her happiness, but she doesn’t close her eyes, still watching him as he moves closer to his relief. He’s lost count of how many times they’ve had sex at this point, but this time is different. As he comes with the most intense orgasm to rock his body, he realizes exactly what’s changed.

This time, he knows that Felicity loves him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell we really love Team Arrow? :)
> 
> This fic has been time consuming and a challenge for both of us. Thank you so much for all your kudos/comments and general support! It's especially encouraging when we're working during lunch hours or late into the night to get this fic done. Thanks again!!


	9. Chapter 9

 

Carter Bowen shows up two days later with a wide grin on his face.

“Great place, you’ve got here, Queen,” Carter says, looking around. “Fantastic setting.”

“We like it,” he says with a forced smile, wondering why he’s so annoyed about Carter Bowen being the person who had wanted to see the place, chalking it up to his intense dislike of the man’s perfection. He almost told his realtor to cancel the appointment when he read the name in the email, but decided to act like an adult instead.

He’d been gone from the city for too long, his guilt over leaving Starling City growing heavier no matter how much fun he is having. He’d made a promise to his father, one he didn’t intend to break and if selling this place would help him keep it, so be it.

It’s time to get back to reality.

For the next half hour, Oliver shows Carter around the campground.

“What do you want with it?” Oliver asks as they stand looking toward the beach. Sara and Nyssa have Molly in the water with them, while Dig and Lyla watch from the beach, sipping drinks with umbrellas in them.

“Thought I could turn it into a private resort,” Carter answers with a false smile. “People from the club mainly. Could make a killing.”

“Right,” Oliver says, a sinking feeling in his chest as Sara starts laughing after being accidently kicked in the face by the baby.

“With these upgrades your mother has done,” Carter goes on. “I can really sell this to a certain clientele.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Oliver agrees, even though he doesn’t agree at all. What was wrong with the clientele now? “Why don’t I show you to the main house?”

He shows him through the house, pointing out the state-of-the-art kitchen, fully-stocked library and the main great room. As they climb the stairs to the second floor, he can hear singing. He smiles.

They come to the first open door to find Felicity and Thea singing loudly along to Beyonce as they work to change the sheets on the bed, the room having become vacated that morning.

“Hello,” he says, breaking them out of their rhythm. They both smile back at him, until Thea sees who is standing behind Oliver and her face falls.

“Carter Bowen,” Thea says, walking forward as the man enters the room. “Good to see you.”

“Thea Queen,” he says, pulling her in for a hug, making her shoot Oliver a grimace over his shoulder. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

“Yeah,” Thea says with a smile so fake, Oliver’s having trouble not laughing. “I actually have to run. Make sure all the rooms get cleaned. See you around, Carter,” she lies. Oliver knows this is the only room that needed attention today, but he doesn’t call her on it, just winks at her as she walks by him out the door.

“And this must be your wife,” Carter says, turning his attention to Felicity as she comes forward after turning off the music,  accepting his outstretched hand. “Carter Bowen.”

“Felicity Smoak,” Felicity says as they shake hands.

“Oh, couldn’t get her to take your name, huh, Queen?”

“I prefer Smoak,” Oliver answers, because he actually does. Never in a million years would he want her to change it.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Felicity,” Carter ignores him. “I thought I read you two were--”

It’s a terribly rude question from anyone, but from Carter Bowen it’s rage inducing. Oliver steps forward to lay into him, but Felicity catches his eye, giving him a quick headshake.

“We’re trying to work things out,” Felicity cuts Carter off before he can finish.

The anger is gone like it was never there. He wants to ask her to repeat what she just said, to make sure it was real. Wants to pull her aside, ask if she meant it, beg her to mean it.  But Carter is talking about God only knows what, Felicity nodding along like she cares.

It leaves him smiling for the rest of the day, this idea that maybe, even a little bit, she’s thinking about their future together.

 

* * *

 

“I was really glad when you called,” Carter Bowen drawls, leaning on a tree trunk.  “I knew you felt it too.”

Felicity’s eyebrows draw together, a look of confusion clear on her face. “Felt what?”

He ignores her, stepping over a branch. “I love it when girls play hard-to-get,” he says.

She clears her throat. “Aren’t you married?” she asks as she takes a step back, trying to keep the distance between them as pronounced as possible.

How did she ever manage to be convinced this was a good idea?

_“You have to do it, Felicity,” Thea had insisted. “Trust me, you do not want that sleazeball to get his hands on this place.”_

Oh yeah. _Now_ she remembers.

He grins, completely oblivious to what she means by bringing up his wife. “Yeah, but don’t worry, she’s pregnant,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I mean, that’s part of the reason I came down here. Really needed to get away, y’know?”

She doesn’t know. For the week and half he knew about her pregnancy, Oliver never left her side. She couldn’t imagine him ever driving several hours to get away from her.

She clasps her hands together, trying to feign excitement, thinking it isn’t fair that scumbags like him get to procreate. In the five minutes they’ve spent together, it’s clear to her the world doesn’t need more Carter Bowens, but it sure as hell could use more Oliver Queens. “Congratulations,” she mumbles. “Must be exciting.”

“Not really. The kid’s like a jellybean right now,” he muses, turning back to her. “You look great,” he says. His eyes are staring at her legs, slowly trailing up her body, lingering on her chest.

The mini-skirt was Thea’s idea. As was the push-up bra.

_“You look great! Come on, Felicity. Take one for the team,” Thea had said, pumping her fist._

Felicity tries to keep her expression pleasant, ignoring the instinct to scrunch her face in disgust.  

It’s official. She’s going to kill Thea.

He winks. “So...how did you want to do this?”

It takes everything in her not to roll her eyes and knee him in the groin.

She smiles sweetly. “I was thinking we could take a walk down to the lake?”

He grins, the excitement in his voice making her shudder. “That sounds perfect.”

“Doesn’t it?” she asks, wanting to bury her face in her hands when he misses the sarcasm in her voice.

He throws an arm over her shoulders. “It really does.”

She shrugs his arm off automatically, knowing there are some lines she simply can’t cross, no matter how much she loves Goldfinch. Letting another man think he was going to see her naked was one of them.

“Listen, Carter, I think maybe you got the wrong idea.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a very happily married woman,” she says without thinking about it. Her heart skips a beat as her own words land on her ears.

Where did _that_ come from?

It knocks the wind out of her, saying it aloud, admitting it to someone. She tells herself she said it to ward off his advances, but her heart is racing in panic as she realizes she means it. Every word. Especially the part about “happily.”

His face falls instantly, a look of irritation replacing the one of desire. “I don’t understand, then why did you call me over here?”

“Carter, can you keep a secret?” she asks, an exaggerated pout on her lips.

He folds his arms in response, glaring at her. “I thought that was the point of coming here,” he says through clenched teeth.

She points to the water, sighing loudly. “The truth is, the most attractive selling point of this camp is this lake….”

“I’m well aware. I make sure I know everything about my investments," he tells her. His tone borders on hostile.

“Right. Oliver said that about you. Well I just thought you should know about the toxic waste in the lake.”

Carter frowns, looking down at the water. “What toxic waste? This lake is--”

She bites her lip to keep from laughing when his eyes go wide at the sight of grayish green fuzz floating on top of the water. She cranes her neck to see over him, admiring Barry’s genius creation. It really does look nasty.

He huffs, disdain etched in the wrinkles on his forehead. “That son of a--”

Felicity interrupts him before he can finish. “I know you don’t want to taint the memory of my mother-in-law by saying anything...mean-spirited.”

“And Oliver knows. He knows and he--”

“He doesn’t know.” The last thing she wants is for Oliver’s reputation to be tainted among Starling City’s elite. “I haven’t told him yet. I don’t know how...seeing as he went for a swim yesterday and there’s a good chance the toxic waste made him sterile.”

Carter looks at her, horrified, his mouth agape.

She bites her lip, trying to look forlorn. “So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything yet until I find the right time to break it to him?"

“Of course,” he says, for the first time looking sympathetic.

She sighs, letting her shoulders sag, fighting the urge to do a happy jig. “Why don’t I walk you back?” she offers, turning to head back towards the Bed and Breakfast.

“Did it work?” Thea asks, coming up behind her as Carter disappears into the B & B.

Felicity nods slowly, a sly grin spreading on her face. “I think so,” she says. Her thoughts drift to Oliver and her smile fades instantly at the realization of what comes next. “Oliver’s going to kill me.”

“He might be a little mad,” Thea agrees, holding up her thumb and index finger half an inch apart.

“Little?” Felicity squeaks. “There’s nothing little about Oliver.”

Thea cringes, her face scrunching up as she holds a hand out towards Felicity. “Eww, I did not need to know that.”

“Sorry, that came out very, very wrong.”

Thea bumps her hip playfully, a lopsided smirk on her face. “Come on, isn’t that what love is about?” she asks. “Making the tough choices?”

Felicity pops her thumbnail into her mouth and bites down, unconvinced. Thea drapes an arm over her shoulders. “You did the right thing, Felicity. He might not see that right away, but eventually? He will. He’ll see it was the right choice, and he’ll thank you for it.”

She certainly hopes so. Oliver may not know it yet, she thinks to herself as she lets Thea lead her away, but she’s doing this for him.

 

* * *

 

It’s not even 6:05 in the morning when Carter Bowen peeks his head into the kitchen to tell Oliver he’s leaving.

“You want me to have my lawyers send over the paperwork?” Oliver asks, dropping the dough he’d been kneading to follow Carter out.

“Won’t be necessary,” Carter says, not slowing his step or looking back at him. “I’m going to pass.”

“Last night-”

“Good luck with everything, Oliver,” Carter says cutting Oliver off as he reaches his car.

“Wait, I thought-"

“Sorry, got to run,” Carter interrupts him, opening the door and sliding inside without ever once making eye contact with him. Oliver steps back as he peels out of the driveway, folding his arms as he tries to figure out what happened.

“Where is he off to in such a hurry?” Diggle asks, coming to stand beside him, Molly tucked into his arms, gurgling.

“No clue,” Oliver says. “Last night he was all ready to buy it, this morning he can’t leave fast enough.”

“Strange,” Diggle says. “Wonder what scared him off.”

Oliver’s shoulders slump, turning on his heels and marching through the campground to the tiny little cabin he’d started to refer to as their home. He remembers feeling wary of Felicity and Thea talking to themselves during dinner last night. Now he knows why.

“Felicity,” he calls, when he opens the door.

“In here,” she yells from the bathroom.

“Would you care to--” he cuts off when he gets to the doorway. She’s only wearing underwear, leaning against the counter with a mascara wand in her hand.

Fuck.

“What?” she asks innocently, too innocently, capping the mascara and throwing it back in her makeup bag. He wonders if she planned for him to find her this way, to distract him.

Two can play at that game.

“Felicity,” he says, moving in behind her, watching their reflection in the mirror. He lightly grips her waist, pulling her flush against him as he curves around her. “Felicity, is there anything you want to tell me?” he asks, making eye contact with her reflection as one of his hands curves up to pinch her nipple.

“Keep going?” Felicity asks with a slight tilt to her voice.

“No,” he says, breathing on her neck, his other hand moving around to her flat stomach, his fingers just barely dipping below the waistline of her underwear. “About Carter Bowen.”

“Oh,” Felicity says before letting out a small moan as his hand dips further into her panties, one of his fingers brushing her clit. “Oh that,” she says, her eyes tracking his hand in the mirror.

“Yes, that,” he says, moving his hand lower. He has to bite her shoulder when he finds she’s already getting wet for him. Tries to stay on track as his fingers begin to rub. “What did you tell Carter, Felicity?”

“I, I might have,” she leans back into him, arching her hips as his fingers work her. “I might have told him the lake was a toxic waste dump.”

He snorts. “Why would he believe you?” His hands picking up speed a little when he sees her close her eyes.

“Because I had Barry put together some perfectly safe chemicals that look shockingly nasty when put on water,” she says, the last word almost shouted, her hand moving to cover his where it’s still palming her breast.

He moves his thumb to the spot he discovered always sends her over, watching the mirror as the orgasm hits hard. She sags against him, secure in his arms. He works her through it, waits till she can stand on her own before ushering her into their room, pushing her to the bed and pulling her underwear off in one stroke.

“We’re not done talking about this,” he says, pulling his t-shirt from his body.

He can’t help but think to himself that this is the perfect way to deal with fights. Wonders what took him so long to figure that out.

 

* * *

 

“Why can’t you keep it?” Felicity argues, her voice soft and pleading, her fingers tracing lazy circles around his chest. “Just hire someone for the year, come in the summers.”

He hums contentedly under her touch. “Felicity, that costs a lot of money. Money I need to help stabilize QC.”

“I’ve seen your finances, you can afford it. Plus I can set-up the network. You’d be able to run QC from here. With technology these days, we can make this work,” she argues, rising from the bed and sliding into her panties.

He leans over the side of the mattress to grab his shirt. “I have more than one job, remember?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

She sighs, grabbing her tank top and pulling it over her head. “For how long? Oliver you can’t be the Arrow forever. You’re going to have to retire one day, and with your knee, and your back, it’s going to have to be sooner rather than later.”

“My knee is fine, and I’ll see a chiropractor for my back.”

“I don’t think that’s a long-term solution, Oliver,” she says. “Besides, with Roy, and Sara? Starling City’s got options now. Even ARGUS is an option now that Lyla is in charge.”

She feels the weight in her heart when he laughs in response. “I can’t just walk away from the city,” he scoffs, grabbing his boxer briefs. “Besides, this is too hard Felicity. It’s too much work. Can you imagine me with an apron? Spending every summer in the kitchen?”

She can, actually.

He begins the search for his pants, finding them on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“This isn’t me,” he continues, moving towards them. “I have to be practical. There’s real life to get back to.”

He doesn’t notice the way her mouth drops open in shock as he finishes getting dressed, dropping a quick kiss on her lips before heading out. “I’ve got a training session with Diggle. Have to stay in shape.”

She watches him go, the shards of his words piercing her heart. She blinks back tears as the words replay in her head. He’s never going to choose normal. He isn’t even willing to try.

_There’s real life to get back to._

This is real life to her. Waking up next to him, his arm still draped over her as slices of light filter in through the curtains. Watching him don an apron to make breakfast, smirking with pride when she moans after biting into his famous Lemon Blueberry scones. Going on a run by the lake and cooling off with a swim after.  Making love to the sound of the birds in the morning and crickets in the evening.

How can he call this hard? What does he think it will be when they get back to Starling City? Adding her full-time job and his, plus their nightly activities? Adding the pressure of a life where people are targeting her and trying to kill him?

It’s happening again, she thinks, sinking down to the bed. He doesn’t realize it, but it is. He doesn’t know what he’s doing; doesn’t understand where this is leading. All in one moment, walking away the next.

She remembers the pain in his eyes the night he called the end to them, and that was before they ever really started.

_Thea’s voice resonates, builds her resolve. “Isn’t that what love is? Making the tough choices?”_

The tears come, the grief like a pillow pressed over her face, smothering her. Her chest tightens as she gasps for air, her entire body shaking as she accepts that it’s her turn now. Her turn to end them before either of them get any more attached. Her burden.

She doesn’t fight for control, knowing she’ll need it for what comes next, knowing she’ll have to break him to get him to let her go.

This is over just as it finally began.

She thought losing their baby was hard, but this is the moment she knows that losing Oliver is worse.

 

* * *

 

Once he’s sure the kitchen is cleaned up and ready for tomorrow, he heads back to their cabin. He hasn't seen Felicity since before his training session with Diggle.

“Oliver,” Diggle calls as he passes their cabin. Oliver pauses, looking down at the sleeping baby in Diggle’s arms, hit with the feeling of wanting one of his own.

“What’s up?” he asks, not letting himself dwell too long on that thought.

“Lyla and I are heading out tomorrow,” Dig says. “When are you guys coming back? Or should everyone start calling me Arrow now?”

“Funny,” Oliver says with an eyeroll. “We’ll be back as soon as we can. Just have to find somebody to run the place. Or better yet, buy it.”

“I thought Thea and Roy volunteered to run it,” Diggle says, giving him an appraising look. “And didn’t you already get an offer from that business associate of your mother’s?"

“Diggle,” Oliver says, exhausted already by the conversation. His mother’s friend Tom emailed him this afternoon with a pretty sizeable offer. “It’s complicated.”

“Sure it is,” Diggle says with a headshake Oliver knows means he’s let him down. Not wanting the fight waiting for him, he waves goodbye, needing to see Felicity even more now.

“Hey,” he says softly as he approaches the cabin. Felicity is sitting on the porch swing, swaying back and forth slowly. She watches him approach with an expression that has Oliver’s sixth sense spiking. He can’t read it.

“Diggle and Lyla are leaving tomorrow,” he says, sitting down next to her.

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m going with them.”

“You’re--” he pauses, turning to her. “What?”

“Oliver,” she says, still not looking at him. “You’re right. This can’t last forever. I have a life to get back to in Starling.”

“Felicity…” he trails off. It’s back, that weight on his chest. He tries to sort through everything, to get a rational thought. He gives his head a shake, hoping it will clear his mind of all the questions running through it. “Fine. Okay. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

“No. I need to go back alone,” Felicity says, finally turning to meet his eyes. “I have to go pack.” She rises to leave, resolve clear in her face.

He catches her wrist when she moves past him, gently holding her in place. “Felicity,” he says again. “Don’t.” His voice is louder than he wants it to be, his hold on his emotions slipping. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she says, eerily calm. She doesn’t sound like herself. “I can’t pretend like everything’s okay when it’s not. Like playing house for the last month erases anything that’s happened between us.”

 _It’s changed everything_ , he thinks.

She continues, and he can hear her voice start to crack. “We’ve had our fun. It’s time to face facts, Oliver. You and I don’t get a happy ending.”

“Happy ending? Felicity, I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. No one gets happy endings--” he says, but she cuts him off before he can tell her what they have, what they can be, is so much more than a cliche fabricated by greeting card companies.

“Maybe not, but not everyone’s life ends up a tragedy. And I’m tired of mine turning into one,” she spits out. “I don’t want to be with someone who might not come back at the end of the day.”

“I’m not your father,” he says, finally understanding, but the word ‘tragedy’ sticks in his brain. Tragedy? Is that where they end up? Is that the only way she sees them? “You don’t get to claim some deep-seated daddy issue to run away from our marriage.”

“Marriage?” she scoffs, the coldness replaced with heat as her voice rises. “Marriage? What part of this is a marriage?” she asks, hitting him in the gut again. “The part where we fuck every chance we get? Or the part where we got drunk and make vows we don’t even remember--”

“I reme--” he tries to say, thankful he’s already sitting, feeling like he’s just gone a round with Mirakuru-injected soldiers. She cuts him off again before he can tell her he remembers every last word of their vows.

“Or is it the part where I got pregnant and lost our baby?” She is sobbing now, stepping back when he reaches for her. “No! Don’t touch me. Don’t you get it Oliver? It’s you. Bad things happen to me when I’m with you.” She swipes her fingers across her cheeks, gasping for air. “I keep thinking, maybe if it wasn’t your baby, maybe then I’d still have her.”

Fuck.

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t have a fucking clue how to fix it. He racks his brain, goes over every interaction they’ve ever had, his heart constricting uncomfortably in his chest.

_Is she right?_

“Felicity,” he starts, but he honestly doesn’t know where he is going. His eyes burn, the helplessness, the pain grips him. He can’t find a solution. Can’t find an a response to her claims.

He wants to pull her toward him, wants to guide her into the bedroom and make her see. He wants to fight to keep her, but his quiver is lacking the right weapon. If that’s how she feels, if that’s how she sees him, what good would it do?

“You love me. I love you,” he says. It’s all he’s got. His last Hail Mary. He can tell from her stance, her demeanor, that she’s made up her mind. But he knows, he knows with all his heart that she loves him and he sure as fucking hell knows he loves her.

She looks at him, her expression uncharacteristically blank. “If you love me, you’ll let me go. You’ll give me a chance at a normal life.”

With that, she’s gone, walking out of his life, not even having the courtesy to look back at him. He takes a deep breath, the burning in his eyes threatening to become more.

He fights every instinct he has to run after her, telling himself it wouldn’t change the outcome, not if Felicity has already decided it’s over.

She is so fucking stubborn.

Oliver knows pain, all too intimate with its ins and outs. He knows how to breath through it, train his mind to refocus, recalibrate. He has been both physically and mentally tortured more times than he can even remember.

But nothing, not Lian Yu, not Ra’s Al Ghul, not even watching both his parents meet brutal ends before his very eyes, none of it could have prepared him for this. It’s a pain unlike anything he has ever experienced.

He watches her walk away, taking all his hope with her, and knows he doesn’t having a fucking clue how to fight this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in chapter 4, we mentioned the miscarriage was one of two plot points that was incredibly difficult to tackle. Felicity’s mindset and this fight, along with Oliver’s heartbreak, was the second plot point. We spent a lot of time on this chapter, mulling over the dialogue, discussing the fight, and talking about character motivation. We’re not going to lie: we also shed tears and drank a lot of alcohol while writing these scenes--thank goodness that scene was one that we had written together and we had each other to lean on! But the good news is, this isn’t the end of the story. We hope you stick around to see what happens next.


	10. Chapter 10

He moves back into the B & B before she comes back, ignoring Thea’s questions in favor of pulling the covers over his head, spending a sleepless night going over every detail of the day.

Not seven hours ago he’d been buried deep inside her, thinking his life was finally looking up, thinking they might finally be on the same page. Now he is here, painfully aware of how empty the bed is.

He oversleeps, coming in during mid-breakfast rush to see Thea and Roy have everything under control.

“Are they still here?” he asks Thea quietly.

She shakes her head. “They left first thing. Felicity looked--”

“I’m going for a run,” Oliver cuts her off. He doesn’t want to know how Felicity looked.

When he gets back an hour later, he’s got a plan, grabbing his phone so he can put it into action.

Two days later, he’s sitting at his lawyer’s office staring at the end of his marriage.

“Your wife made it clear she doesn’t want anything of yours,” Jean says. “Are you sure you want to give her this campground? The appraisal was quite high.”

“It’s hers,” he says, his voice monotone, unable to tear his eyes away from the papers.

He hadn’t seen Felicity since she left, but Diggle had informed him she’d shown up at the foundry every night since she got back, her intentions to still be a part of the team clear. He holds on to that. Needs it now more than ever.

She doesn’t want to be with him, but she doesn’t want to let him go either. If that’s the only way he can have her in his life, so be it. Her happiness comes first.

“Ollie, please,” Thea says, her hand falling over his where it grips the pen. “You’re making a mistake.”

“No,” Oliver says. “All I want is to make her happy and if this is the only way…”

“You know this isn’t the only way,” Thea says when he trails off. “You make her happy, Oliver. You always have. Even before I really knew her, I knew you made her, each other, happy.”

“Thea,” he says, turning his head to look at her. He is glad she is there for the support, even if she isn’t being very supportive. She’s exactly what he needs to get through this. “My hands are tied. It’s what she wants.”

“You love her,” Thea states.

“I do,” he says turning back to lean forward over the desk. “Which is why I have to do this.”

He signs the papers, his heart heavy in his chest.

For Felicity.

* * *

The drive back to Starling had been quiet.

Felicity leans her head against the window, too exhausted from a night of crying to shed any more tears. When Molly fusses, she reaches over to offer her finger, remembering the baby’s fist wrapped around Oliver’s thumb, swallowing repeatedly to keep from breaking down again.

She had said terrible things to him, blamed him for the loss of their baby, because that was what it took for him to let her go. She had to sell it, she tries to convince herself. Tries not to remember the way he flinched, the pain etched in every line on his face . Wonders if the day will come when she will ever stop hating herself.

Halfway to Starling City, Dig pulls over to load gas and use the bathroom, while Lyla disappears into the convenience store. Molly is finally asleep so Felicity decides some fresh air might do her good, climbing out of the car and staring at the long stretch of road in the distance.

“Thirsty?” Lyla asks when she emerges, handing her a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” she manages to whisper, opening it to take a sip.

“You okay?”

She nods, leans back against the car door. “I will be.”

Lyla takes a drink from her own bottle. “John said it’s between the two of you, that we shouldn't get involved. That you’d figure it out.”

Felicity nods again. “We will,” she mumbles.

They’ll find their way back to whatever they were before all this happened.

“People who love each other usually do,” Lyla muses, her attention turned to Dig who is walking back towards the car.

“You’re lucky,” she says, turning to Lyla, her voice starting to break. “John’s a fighter. Always has been.”

Lyla chuckles softly. “You forget this is our second go-around,” she says with a tilt of her head. “John quit too, once upon a time. We both did.” She holds out her hand to take Felicity’s, squeezing gently. “Sometimes it’s the pain of the loss that reminds us why the fight is so important.”

She doesn't let the words settle, refuses to think about how much she keeps losing.

“And sometimes you have to let go before the pain gets to be too much,” Felicity says numbly.

“Ready to go?” Dig asks coming up beside them, one arm wrapping around Lyla’s waist.

Felicity doesn’t answer, opening the door and getting back into the car instead. When Bon Jovi’s _“I’ll Be There For You"_ plays on the radio, she asks John to change the station.

She gets the call from Oliver’s lawyer a few days later.

Since she'd left him sitting on that porch swing, all she’d been doing is running a list in her head, a record of all the reasons why she had to do this, trying to block out the memories of their time together.

_“You’re doing the right thing. He doesn’t know it yet, but one day, he will. And he’ll thank you for it.”_

She hangs on to Thea’s words like a lifeline, staring at the door that leads to her future.

The lawyer’s office is sterile, full of clean, modern furniture. On the walls hang abstract art that makes Felicity’s eyes hurt. Each step is heavier than the last as she walks down the corridor.

“Felicity,” Jean Loring approaches her with a smile, holding out her hand. She takes it, grips tightly, bitterness enveloping her as she wonders how this woman can be smiling. Doesn’t she know what’s happening here today? “I’m so glad we could finally settle this.”

 _“So am I,”_ she wants to say. But she can’t get the words out of her mouth. She can barely hold on to them in her head.

“For awhile I was worried there this would take forever again. I know it must be hard, letting go, moving on…”

The words are platitudes. Empty. Devoid of sympathy and compassion. She has no idea. _Just shut up and hand me the papers,_ Felicity wants to yell, but she buries that urge, shoving it under all the memories of the last month, another shovel of dirt on the death of her marriage.

“I’m just glad you finally decided there was no use putting this off like you did the annulment,” Jean continues flippantly, pulling a stack of papers out from a Manila envelope.

“What?” she asks, baffled.

“Oh,” Jean starts, gesturing for her to take a seat. “I mean, it’s water under the bridge now, but you know…just putting off the papers until the annulment timeline lapsed...but it’s fine, we’re getting this settled, that’s what’s important.

The nerve of this woman.

“I didn’t put off signing anything,” she bites back. “If you had gotten the papers ready earlier, we would have made the deadline.” Her finger play with the corner of the paper as she tries to control the shaking in her hands.

Jean’s face crumples in confusion, the tenseness in her jaw cluing Felicity in to her annoyance. “The papers were ready for weeks,” she manages to respond calmly with a smile that oozes pretentiousness. “I sent them to Oliver’s office as soon as we finished drafting them. With plenty of time to spare.”

Her head jerks up. “Weeks?”

That doesn’t make any sense.

“Of course,” Jean says, her eyes shifting sideways for a second. “Contrary to what you might think, I’m very good at what I do. Oliver said he’d take care of it, wanted to be the one to tell you. Something about the sensitivity of the issue,” she continues, the layers of annoyance and indignation impossible to mask. “Didn’t he tell you?”

 _Not until the very last minute_ is what comes to her mind, but there are too many questions her heart is asking to say anything aloud.

He could have ended their marriage weeks earlier, before he ever found out about the baby. So why didn’t he?

His blue eyes, staring into hers, flash into her mind. “ _I never asked for the annulment. From the beginning, I've only ever done what you asked.”_

“The terms of the divorce are pretty simple. He says you were clear about not wanting anything.”

The next words out of her mouth sound absurd. “I’m leaving this marriage with what I came into it with.”

“That’s what he said you’d say,” Jean acknowledges, her expression cold, no longer attempting fake sensitivity, “but he did insist on giving you the camp in Goldfinch.”

She shakes her head, tries to keep her voice even. “No, he’s selling that campground.”

“Not anymore. He said it was too important. He said you’d want it.”

“He’s wrong,” Felicity says, unable to hide the tremble in her voice. “I don’t want it. Tell him I don’t want it.”

“It’s one of two terms Oliver insisted on.”

“Two?”

“He said you had to take the camp in Goldfinch…” she trails off, pulling a small blue velvet pouch from her pocket, "and this.”

Felicity palms the pouch, stares at it, bewildered. Jean doesn’t seem to notice, sitting on one of the leather chairs that surrounds the conference table with her hands laced together. “Listen, Felicity, I know that technically, I’m Oliver’s lawyer, but trust me on this. You’re very lucky...I don’t know that I’ve ever facilitated a divorce quite like this before. All Oliver seems to have thought about through these proceedings has been you. How to make you happy. Giving you what you want. So sign the papers. Take the camp. Do whatever you want with it. And move on.”

Felicity doesn’t respond, opting to open the pouch and flip it over, her heart skipping a beat at the platinum wedding band that tumbles out. Her wedding ring.

He kept it. _Why did he keep it?_

“So, just right here, hon,” Jean says, not noticing the expression on her face, pointing to the line at the bottom of the page next to Oliver’s signature.

Felicity stares at it, immediately noticing the marks of indecisiveness in his handwriting. When working as his EA in QC, she always knew how he felt about a deal based on his signature. Judging from the one she’s looking at it, he felt rotten about this one.

Her hand grips the pen, hovering above the line.

‘Sign it, Felicity,’ she urges herself. She presses the tip of the pen down, her heart pounding when she sees the black dot it makes on the page. She lifts it, hand shaking, before bringing it down again. She can’t get it to move past that single blot of ink.

A deep inhale. A slow exhale.

She licks her lips as she stares at the line.

Why is this so hard?

_“We can’t,” she tells him when he had told the cab driver to head to the Little White Chapel._

The words were the complete opposite of what she thought. She’d never questioned it, blaming her mettle on the buzz of the alcohol. She’d said it because it was a ridiculous idea, objectively speaking, to get married while drunk in Vegas, not because it was a ridiculous idea to marry him. The one thing she knows for certain, that’s been consistent in her memory, is that her mind was clear as she stood opposite Oliver in front of the altar.

No running commentary trying to talk her out of it. No lingering doubt about whether she was making the right choice. And no question that she belonged beside him.

She had walked into their marriage confident that it was the right decision. The complete opposite of how she feels now trying to walk out of it.

She drops the pen, gathering the papers in her hands. “I need to look through this,” she says. “Read through everything...”

“That camp is worth a lot of money. You are getting a great deal in this divorce,” Jean responds quickly, coming around the table with her hands held out in front of Felicity.

But she isn’t, she thinks to herself, as she looks at his lawyer. She’s losing what really matters.

She’s losing him.

She swallows. The lump is still there, the doubt like a tumor making its presence known. “I’ll be back to sign them tomorrow,” she replies, trying to sound more confident than she feels. “I just need to look through them. Make sure I’m doing what’s best for me.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply, turning and moving briskly out of the office in a daze, somehow finding herself in a booth in Big Belly Burger, sitting across Diggle.

“Know what you want?” Diggle asks, putting the menu down on the table and gesturing for the waitress.

Felicity shakes her head. Despite staring at the menu for the last five minutes, the words are still out of focus, a blur of black and white. She can’t think of anything except Oliver.

Behind her, the volume of the television gets louder. People start pointing to her and whispering.

She turns, looks up to see what is going on.

On the screen Oliver is shielding his face, trying to move through a crowd of reporters with Thea close behind. He doesn’t look like himself, his expression somber even for him, his eyes downcast. She’s seen him look that way before, the time he told her and Diggle goodbye, leaving them to turn himself over to Slade. The day he had given up because he didn’t know how else to fight.

“Three months ago, we were the first to break news of Oliver Queen’s sudden marriage to Queen Consolidated employee, Felicity Smoak, who also happens to be his former executive assistant. We also reported the miscarriage that rocked the couple’s marriage early on. Rumors of the relationship struggling have been rampant, and this morning, we have received confirmation that the couple is, indeed, filing for divorce. An anonymous source sent us a video of the couple’s nuptials, a sad reminder that even the most romantic love stories don’t have happy endings.”

Video? What video?

The footage is grainy, clearly from a camera phone, but the sound is clear.

_“You’ve decided to write your own vows?” the Elvis impersonator says._

_“Oh yeah, yep,” Felicity snorts, adjusting her white baseball cap. “No way are we using the traditional ones.”_

_“Well then proceed,” Elvis laughs._

The video clears the last remaining billows of fog from that night. When she closes her eyes, she remembers distinctly the look in his eyes, hears the words playing in her head, drowning out the sound on the television.

_“I didn’t write vows, Felicity,” a blissfully happy Oliver leans in to say with a sappy grin._

_“It’s okay,” Felicity says. “It’s vows. Say what comes from the heart.”_

_“Okay,” Oliver says, his eyes focused on her. “How do I start?”_

_“I, Oliver….”_

_“I, Oliver,” he says, smiling, “take you Felicity Smoak. In sickness and in health, for richer--”_

_“No, Oliver, those are the normal ones,” she cuts him off. “Just tell me the truth.”_

_“Felicity,” he sighs with a blissful smile, “The truth is, you weren’t supposed to happen. I don’t deserve happiness, never did. But then you walked into my life--”_

_“Technically, you walked into mine,” Felicity corrects him._

_“Right. Best decision I’ve ever made,” he nods once before continuing. “So I, Oliver Queen, take you, Felicity Smoak, to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to always do what I am best at, fighting. I will always fight for you, for us. Fight to keep you safe, fight to keep you happy. I’ll fight to listen to you, I’ll fight for your advice, to comfort you. Hell, I’ll even fight you if it means keeping you in my life. You’re my partner. As long as you’re by my side, I will never stop fighting to keep you there.”_

_“Even if I almost get you run over by a bus?” she asks with a smile._

_“Especially then,” he says, tugging her closer to him by their clasped hands. “I love you.”_

_He slips the ring on her finger. “Your turn.”_

“You okay, Felicity?” Dig asks, eyeing her curiously.

She turns towards him, the events of the last month falling into place around every word from Oliver’s mouth. The way he took care of her when she was fighting to keep their baby, held her when she cried about their loss; the way he had forced her to move past her grief, every crazy idea he pitched; how he had done everything he could to make her happy. The fight they had when she tried to end their marriage, and the one they had when she succeeded. He had fought harder than she has ever known Oliver Queen to fight. And it had been for her.

He’d been drunk for the wedding but sober for the marriage.

She buries her head in her hands, her voice muffled. “I am so stupid.”

She looks up to see Dig staring at her with a wide grin, shrugging an eyebrow up. “Finally figured things out?”

“Yeah,” she says, taking the ring in her bag and slipping it back on her finger, her thumb jerking in the direction of the door. “I need a ride.”

“It’s about damn time,” Dig says, grabbing his jacket and sliding out of the booth, trailing closely behind her.

He doesn’t ask where they are heading, driving immediately to Oliver’s building, giving her an approving nod as she scrambles out. In the lobby, she jabs the call button of the elevator, taking a step back to watch the numbered lights on top count down.

She decides she can’t wait any longer. She’s wasted enough time.

She makes it up ten flights of stairs in record time, not stopping to take a breath when she gets to his floor. For a second, her knuckles hesitate at his door. Her adrenaline is pumping, anxiety hitting its peak.

_What if he rejects her? What is she’s too late? What if--_

The answers don’t matter. She knows something today that she didn’t yesterday.

She’s willing to fight for him.

* * *

He sighs as the door clicks closed behind him, looking around his apartment and wishing he lived somewhere else. He had spent way too many hours dreaming about how to adapt it to Felicity's tastes in the last month.

Tomorrow, he thinks, tomorrow he’ll look for a new place.

Reaching in his pocket he pulls out the wedding ring he’d been carrying around since he signed the divorce papers this morning. He stares at it in his hands, trying to convince himself to let it go, to move on.

Instead he drops it on the hallway table Felicity had insisted he get on their one and only trip to Ikea, telling him everyone needs a hallway table. _“Honestly, Oliver, how do you survive without me?”_

He smiles at the memory, wonders if they’ll ever get back to that place, a knock on the door pulling him from his reverie.

The first knock is soft, tentative. But the second and third are loud, demanding attention.

Slowly, Oliver turns around, thinking he should have known Thea couldn’t leave well enough alone. Oliver throws it open. “Speedy, I said I was--” he stops, his mouth agape as he processes her presence. “Felicity.”

“I just came from the lawyers,” she says, stepping boldly past him. “You gave me the camp?” She phrases it as a question, even though he knows she already knows the answer.

“I thought it would make you happy,” he says with a shrug. He isn’t sure if he wants her to stay or go, but he knows nothing she says will convince him to take the camp back.

She takes a step towards him, her eyes refusing to leave his. “I don’t want the camp, Oliver,” she says, pulling the paperwork from her bag. “I want what I had in the camp.”

HIs eyebrows crease together in confusion as he studies her.

“I had you.”

He swallows, shifting his feet. His heart is speeding up, an unidentifiable feeling filling him as he answers, “You’ve always had me.”

“These are our divorce papers,” she informs him, holding up the stack. He knows, he had stared at them for too long. His heart begins to sink again, the implication of them in her hands hitting him.

It was over. Officially over.

“I know,” he nods, that feeling of hope draining, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I signed them.”

She steps forward into his space, drawing his attention up to meet her eyes. “I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?” He feels like his skin is suddenly too tight, like the world has gotten brighter. He holds his breath waiting for her to reply.

She shakes her head, her gaze falling on the platinum wedding band he’d just placed on the table. “I remember my vows.”

“You do.” It’s not a question as much as it is an acknowledgement as he waits for her next move.

Her eyelids flutter close in a expression Oliver knows means she is centering herself, wanting to get whatever she is going to say right. He waits.

“I've learned that the world is a dangerous place, filled with people I can't trust. But then I met you, and for reasons I still don't understand, I trusted you immediately,” she begins. A sense of peace falls over him, washing away the last of his anxiety. “There is no one I feel safer with, no one I rely on more to survive what life throws at me. So today, I, Felicity Smoak, take you, Oliver Queen, to be my husband. I promise to always believe in you even when I don't always believe you--" she pauses, a smile covering her face, as she picks up Oliver’s ring from the table. "To be the voice in your ear telling you where to go, what to do, what you need to hear even if it’s not always what you want me to say. I promise to always have faith in you, to push you to be the best that you can be, just like you have always done for me. I promise to listen to all your secrets and tell you all of mine. I love you." She looks up to meet his eyes. "I will always love you. For as long I am breathing, I promise that you will never be alone." She takes his hand in hers to slip the platinum band back on his ring finger.

Nothing has ever looked more right to him.

His voice drops to a firm whisper. "That last part wasn't in your vows," he points out with a grin.

She shrugs, weaving her fingers into his, and he notices for the first time that she’s wearing her own ring. He loves the way they look next to each other.

"I know, I decided I missed something the first time around."

"You love me," he repeats with a dazed look as he leans in, his lips parting slowly to take hers. She nods, tilting her head to accept him, whispering the two words that have been haunting him since Vegas.

"I do."


	11. Chapter 11

**Epilogue**

"What if it's negative?" Felicity asks, looking anxiously around the pale, gray walls of their cabin’s bathroom.

The space has changed over the last few months, now filled with little details that reflect the amount of time they spend in Goldfinch. Oliver’s weights sit neatly on the floor in their bedroom closet, while Felicity’s running shoes lie side-by-side on the rack by the front door. Two electric toothbrushes rest on a charger by their bathroom sink, one with a yellow sticker, the other green. By her nightstand is the Ipod they share, filled with songs they’ve managed to agree on, one playlist highlighting the music they listened to during their first drive to the camp.

It’s been a year. A year of more ups than downs, more laughter than tears, more love than fighting. She can’t believe she ever thought she could walk away from this.

“Felicity,” he says affectionately with a head tilt, a cocky gleam in his eye. “If I can get you pregnant without trying, imagine what I’m capable of when I put my mind to something.”

She laughs, her lips parting to accept his when he leans down for a kiss.

“If it’s positive, we’re going to need a bigger cabin,” she points out.

“I don’t know...maybe we’ll just build an addition to this one,” he suggests, shrugging a shoulder, looking past the bathroom door at their bed. “I like it here. It’s secluded.”

“Secluded is good,” she agrees with a knowing smile. “Ready?”

Oliver grins. “I was born ready.”

She bites her lip, gripping the test, her eyes never leaving his.

He has surpassed all her dreams for a happy future, proving time and time again that he will always choose her, always choose them. He’d even recently begun talking about letting Roy take over for him as Starling City’s protector.

He places his hands on her cheeks, cradling her face. “Don’t worry,” he coos, leaning his forehead against hers. “It’s going to be positive.”

She’s smiling when she flips the test over.

“What does that mean?” Oliver asks, looking over her shoulder at the two lines that had appeared.

“We’re having a baby.” She is smiling, elation filling her at the prospect of a real-life family of her own.

“Really?” he says, pulling her around so he can look her in the eye, his hands gripping her head to look into her eyes. “You’re serious?”

She nods, not trusting her voice as tears of joy build in her eyes. He’s laughing, swooping down to pick her up to twirl her around. When her feet meet the ground again she doesn’t remove her arms from where they are wrapped around his neck, pulling him down with her so she can press her lips to his.

“You know, Ms. Smoak,” Oliver says with a grin. “I might need to amend my previous statement.”

“Which statement?” she almost hums, the glee she’s feeling bubbling up at his expression.

“The one where I said no one gets happy endings,” he says, his voice dropping as he looks at her like she is his everything. “We...we just might.”

“We’ll have to work for it,” she says, pulling herself closer to him.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s nothing we can’t handle. Together.”

Oliver is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From PuzzledHats:  
> Whoa, we actually finished. Crazy! We poured our blood, sweat and tears into this fic, so to see it come to fruition has been very rewarding. Thank you to every last one of you for your support, kudos, and comments. You have no idea how much we squeed and giggled over each and every one of them. So thank you, thank you, thank you!!
> 
> And of course, thank you Anna (fromfanontocanon). When she came to me with the idea of writing a fic together, I thought it would end in disaster. How on earth could two people actually agree on what to write and where to take the story? Reluctantly I agreed, privately thinking to myself it would never see the light of day. Then we started writing it.
> 
> Each day opening up google docs to see what little bits of Felicity POV Anna had left for me? It was great! It was inspiring! Somehow (i’m still not really sure how), before I knew it, between the two of us we’d written 20k words and were still miraculously friends. We had late night cocktail writing sessions (the taboo game!), early morning discussions about characters (would Felicity actually say that?), and countless number of text messages about what worked/what didn’t. So while there were definitely days I hated this fic, wanted to take it down and never look at it again, I never once regretted the decision to write it.
> 
> Thank you Anna! For making me laugh, for talking me off the proverbial cliff, and for “forcing” me to do this. Let’s never do it again, okay fic soulmate? :)
> 
> Fromfanontocanon:  
> I never thought I'd enjoy co-writing, but writing with Jen has been one of the most memorable, exhilarating writing experiences of my life. It has been a LOT of work--my husband complained, my kids watched more TV than usual and ate less healthy than I'm comfortable with, and I had to hire a housekeeper, but it was all worth it! Jen has kept me sane, kept me going, kept me thinking about the details, flow, coherence, story. I've learned a lot, and I am so grateful to everyone who has been reading, commenting, leaving kudos, reblogging/liking on Tumblr, and generally supporting us through this experience. But mostly, I am grateful to have found someone like Jen to create this with, because when we started we agreed we would do it for ourselves first--we would write a story we loved (and hope others liked it too). We hope you enjoyed it!  
> (But yes, Jen, never again. But fic soulmates forever!)


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